THE  CLUTCH 


CIRCUMSTANCE 


LEIGHTON  •  GRAVESOSMUN 


iiminMiii 


Y"'cr 


THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE 


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THE   CLUTCH   OF 
CIRCUMSTANCE 


By 


LEIGHTON    GRAVES   OSMUN 


NEW  YORK 

SULLY  AND  KLEINTEICH 

1914 


Copyright,  1914.  by 
SULLY  AND  KLEINTEICH 

All  rights  reserved 


THE   QUINN    «    BOOEN    CO.    PRESS 
RAHWAY,  N.  i. 


INFICTUS 
By   William  Ernest  Henley 

Out  of  the  night  that  covers  me. 
Black  as  the  pit  from  pole  to  pole, 

I  thank  whatever  gods  may  be 
For  my  unconquerable  soul. 

In  the  fell  clutch  of  circumstance 
I  have  not  winced  nor  cried  aloud. 

Under  the  bludgeonings  of  chance 
My  head  is  bloody,  but  unbowed. 

Beyond  this  place  of  wrath  and  tears 
Looms  but  the  Horror  of  the  shade. 

And  yet  the  menace  of  the  years 
Finds  and  shall  find  me  unafraid. 

It  matters  not  how  strait  the  gate. 

How  charged  with  punishments  the  scroll, 

I  am  the  master  of  my  fate: 
I  am  the  captain  of  my  soul. 


2137532 


THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE 


THE   CLUTCH 

OF 

CIRCUMSTANCE 

CHAPTER  I 

There  are  days  in  spring  so  perfect  that  the  hu- 
man mind  can  imagine  nothing  more  beautiful, 
days  when  the  heavy  scent  of  blossoms  fills  the  air, 
and  the  rich  odor  of  the  warm  earth  and  young 
growing  things  enters  the  blood,  and  imbues  one 
with  vague  ecstasy. 

On  such  a  day  a  young  woman  was  sitting  at  a 
piano  in  one  of  the  houses  on  the  main  street  of 
Harbury.  This  street  straightens  itself  out  self- 
consciously from  a  rambling  country  road,  and  runs 
primly  in  a  decorous,  straight  line  through  the  vil- 
lage beneath  the  spreading  branches  of  stately  elms. 
It  passes  a  group  of  small  stores,  and  then  con- 
tinues its  uneventful  way  between  dwellings  fronted 
by  small  but  scrupulously  kept  lawns,  until  it  reaches 
the  farther  end  of  town,  where,  freed  from  the  re- 
straining atmosphere  of  the  little  Puritan  village, 


2      THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE 

it  takes  to  ambling  crookedly  again  under  the  care- 
less indulgence  of  Mother  Nature. 

The  girl  at  the  piano  was  as  dainty  as  the  flow- 
ers with  which  the  room  was  filled,  and  she  was 
happy;  from  her  golden  brown  hair  to  the  tip  of 
her  little,  shiny  slipper  peeping  out  from  under 
her  white  frilled  skirt,  she  breathed  youth  and  joy. 
The  most  caviling  of  Harbury  critics  had  to  admit 
that  she  was  pretty,  though  they  hotly  contested 
her  claims  to  beauty ;  she  was  too  small,  they  said, 
and  her  features  lacked  the  classic  lines  which  ap- 
pealed more  strongly  to  them.  Then  there  was 
something  about  her  appearance  which  annoyed 
them,  but  which  they  could  explain  in  no  more  defi- 
nite way  than  to  say  that  she  was  "  Frenchy  look- 
ing." Yet  it  was  no  doll-like  prettiness  that  she 
possessed.  Her  chin  might  be  dainty,  but  it  was 
firm;  her  lips  might  suggest  kisses,  yet  they  could 
be  set  in  a  stern,  forbidding  straight  line;  her  eyes 
might  seem  melting  and  tender,  but  they  could,  if 
the  occasion  arose,  flash  fire.  Masked  behind  her 
cheeriness  and  dainty  loveliness  was  the  character 
handed  down  to  her  through  a  long  line  of  Puritan 
ancestry. 

A  like  contrast  showed  itself  in  her  surround- 
ings. The  house  was  furnished,  instead  of  aus- 
terely, as  one  would  have  supposed  had  one  gazed 
3Upon  it  from  the  outside,  comfortably  and  with 


THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE      3 

even  a  kind  of  modest  luxury.  The  stiff,  hair- 
cloth furniture  and  abominable  crayons  of  relatives 
were  conspicuous  by  their  absence.  The  house  was 
a  bone  of  contention  to  the  other  residents  of  Har- 
bury;  the  older  generation  looked  upon  it  as  a 
leaning  towards  the  flesh-pots  of  Egypt,  while  the 
younger,  and  consequently  more  tolerant,  consid- 
ered it  perfect,  and  copied  it  either  in  their  own 
homes  or  in  their  dreams  of  what  their  homes  would 
be  like  when  they  possessed  them. 

Nor  was  the  girl  herself  less  a  subject  of  com- 
ment. The  Harbury  God  is  a  hard  god,  a  jealous 
god,  who  is  supposed  to  look  at  all  joy,  not  of 
the  religious  kind,  askance,  and  she  was  too  happy, 
too  care- free,  too  filled  with  the  joy  of  living,  and, 
worst  of  all,  she  was  trying  to  make  her  husband 
like  herself. 

Now  she  ran  her  fingers  over  the  keys  and  sang 
with  all  the  abandon  of  complete  happiness.  She 
threw  back  her  head  and  her  white  throat  fluttered 
with  melody.  No  bird,  pouring  out  its  soul  amid 
the  blossoming  foliage,  was  more  care-free,  more 
contented  than  she. 

And  at  last  he  came,  his  long  strides  crunching 
heavily  on  the  graveled  walk.  He  threw  open  the 
door  and  filled  the  doorway  with  his  massive  frame. 
She  sprang  to  meet  him,  and  beat  her  hands  hap- 
pily against  his  great  chest  before  he  could  stoop 


4      THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE 

over  sufficiently  for  her  to  clasp  them  around  his 
neck. 

"  Hello ! "  he  said  in  feigned  surprise,  "  what  is 
the  house  all  trimmed  up  for?  " 

She  laughed  joyfully.  "  As  if  you  could  forget, 
you  old  fraud." 

"  No,"  he  admitted,  "  I  have  not  forgotten.  We 
were  married  a  year  ago  to-day." 

He  stood  stroking  her  hair  clumsily,  his  stern 
face  softened  and  tender. 

"  Kis&  me,  John,"  she  cried  gayly;  "  kiss  me  and 
then  laugh.  Oh,  John,  let's  be  so  happy  to-night 
and  just  laugh  and  dance  and  sing — that  is,  I  will 
dance  and  sing,  and  you  shall  laugh,  you  great 
owl!" 

She  danced  away  from  him,  leaving  him  standing 
there  with  an  expression  of  puzzled  embarrassment 
on  his  face.  He  could  never  follow  her  into  these 
lighter  moods.  He  could  not  even  understand  them, 
but  if  now  and  then  a  shade  of  disapproval  entered 
his  mind  he  crushed  it,  almost  before  it  made  it- 
self felt. 

Suddenly  she  sobered,  and,  going  over  to  the 
table,  picked  up  a  tiny  garment  and  held  it  up  to 
him.  "  See,  dear,  what  I  made  to-day;  isn't  it 
pretty?" 

He  took  it  awkwardly  in  his  huge  hands,  and 


THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE      5 

gazed  down  on  it  with  reverent  awe.  Then  silently 
he  took  her  in  his  arms. 

They  passed  out  into  the  dining-room  together. 
"  Let  me  go  now,  dear,"  she  said  gently,  "  I  must 
bring  the  supper  in." 

He  kissed  her,  and  sat  down  at  the  table,  the 
light  of  a  great  emotion  in  his  eyes. 

John  Lawson  was  not  a  handsome  man;  his  fea- 
tures were  too  large  and  stem,  his  jaw  too  square, 
his  eyes,  deep  set  under  shaggy  eyebrows,  glowed 
too  somberly,  yet  his  was  a  face  that  gave  the  im- 
pression of  limitless  power  and  equally  limitless 
tenacity  of  purpose.  One  would  say,  on  looking 
at  him,  that  he  was  a  man  who;  would  go  far.  In 
reality  he  was  only  thirty,  yet  he  looked  older. 
There  were  lines  in  his  face  which  could  have  been 
produced  only  by  stalwart  fighting  in  the  battle  of 
life.  John  had  been  fighting  ever  since  he  was  ten 
years  old.  When  he  was  that  age,  his  father  died, 
leaving  to  John  and  his  mother  a  mortgaged  farm 
on  a  stony  New  England  hillside.  John  persuaded 
his  mother  to  sell  the  farm,  and  move  into  Har- 
bury,  where  he  obtained  a  position  in  a  grocery 
store.  The  owner,  unable  to  meet  the  competition 
of  a  later  rival,  became  discouraged.  John  man- 
aged to  raise  enough  money  to  buy  him  out.  He 
made  the  business  pay,  but  there  were  in  his  mind 
loftier  ambitions  than  the  ownership  of  a  grocery 


6      THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE 

store  in  Harbury;  even  now  he  was  planning  the 
next  step. 

"  Ruth,"  he  said,  when  she  had  come  in  from 
the  kitchen  bearing  a  dish  of  delicious-looking  bis- 
cuits, "  Sam  Brunt  wants  to  sell  his  store  in  Chester. 
I  am  thinking  of  buying  it.  I  am  calculating  on 
getting  a  chain  of  stores  all  over  the  state,  and  I 
will  before  I'm  through." 

Instantly  she  was  alert: 

"  How  much  does  he  ask  ?" 

John  named  a  figure. 

She  shook  her  head.  "  It  is  too  much.  Sam 
has  allowed  the  business  to  run  down;  it  is  worth 
no  more  than  the  fixtures." 

He  smiled: 

"  And  what  are  they  worth  ?  " 

In  turn  she  named  a  figure. 

"  Sam  told  me,"  he  said  reflectively,  "  that  his 
business  had  been  better  last  year  than  ever  before. 
Of  course  I  will  find  out  when  I  look  over  his  books, 
but " 

"  Then  why  does  he  want  to  sell  ?  "  she  retorted. 

"  He  says  his  wife  is  sick — wants  to  move  away." 

"  Have  you  seen  his  wife?  " 

"  No." 

"  Well,  I  have,"  she  said,  smiling.  "  I  saw  her 
yesterday.  She  does  not  look  much  like  an  in- 
valid." 


THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE     7 

He  thought  a  moment.  "  How  do  you  know  that 
Sam's  business  has  run  down  ?  " 

A  gleam  of  fun  came  into  her  eyes.  "  You  went 
to  Chester  three  times  last  week.  You  covered  your 
cuffs  with  figures,  and  forgot  to  answer  when  I 
spoke  to  you.  I  put  two  and  two  tog^ether,  and 
ferreted  out  your  dread  secret.  Then  I  gossiped  a 
little  with  my  neighbors.  Chester  isn't  more  than  a 
hundred  miles  from  here." 

"You  went  there?" 

"  No;  I  invited  Aunt  Sally  over  here.  She  knows 
everything  about  everybody,  and  is  willing  to  tell — 
under  pressure." 

His  admiration  shone  in  his  eyes.  "  I  will  have 
to  make  you  my  partner." 

"  I'd  rather  be  your  wife,"  she  retorted.  "  Your 
last  partner  did  not  last  long." 

"  Oh,  Finn  Jones  ?    He  was  a  worthless  cuss." 

Her  face  became  grave.  "  You  must  not  allow 
yourself  to  become  hard,  John,"  she  cautioned. 
"  Finn  was  not  worthless.  He  had  had  a  good 
many  setbacks,  and  naturally  was  more  timid  about 
going  ahead  than  you.  Besides,  you  two  were  of 
entirely  different  temperaments.  Finn  was  a 
plodder,  used  to  the  old,  slow  ways,  while  you 
were  quick,  energetic.  It  was  like  hitching  up  a 
plow  horse  with  a  thoroughbred.  You  worried 
each   other;    I    do    not   doubt    that   you   worried 


8      THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE 

Finn  quite  as  much  as  he  worried  you.  Poor 
Finn,"  she  went  on  more  gently.  "  Bad  luck 
seems  to  have  pursued  him.  You  know  he  was 
doing  well  in  Dakota  when  the  wind  and  rain 
spoiled  all  his  wheat.  Then  he  came  back  here, 
and  just  as  he  was  getting  a  fresh  start  his  barn 
burned  down  with  all  his  season's  hay  crop.  I  hate 
to  hear  you  call  him  worthless — he  always  works 
so  hard." 

He  laughed.  "  Have  it  your  own  way,  then. 
By  the  way,  I  have  to  drive  over  to  Bradbury's 
to-night  to  deliver  an  order,  which  came  in  too  late 
to  catch  the  wagon." 

"Oh,  do  you  have  to?"  she  said  regretfully. 
"  Why  can't  you  let  it  go  until  to-morrow,  to-night 
is " 

"  I  know,"  he  said,  *'  but  business  is  the 
main  thing  nowadays.  We  must  think  of  that 
first.  Prince  will  get  me  there  and  back  in  an 
hour  or  so." 

"  Do  you  think  it  safe  to  drive  Prince  ? "  she 
said  anxiously.  "  He's  so  fractious — and  especially 
at  night " 

"  Nonsense,"  he  returned.  "  He's  just  a  little 
skittish,  like  all  colts.  I'll  soon  take  that  out  of 
him." 

"  But  I  have  a  feeling  that  it  is  not  just  because 
he's  a  colt  that  he  acts  the  way  he  does.    I  feel  that 


THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE      9 

he  is  wicked,  John,  that  he  means  to  injure  you  if 
he  can." 

"  You  seem  to  give  Prince  credit  for  a  fine  rea- 
soning mind,"  he  said,  laughing. 

She  did  not  respond  to  his  laughter.  "  I  wish 
you  would  sell  Prince,"  she  urged.  "  Won't  you — 
for  my  sake  ?  " 

He  good-naturedly  changed  the  subject.  He  did 
not  intend  to  give  up  the  battle  he  had  been  waging 
against  the  horse  for  the  last  month  until  Prince 
was  thoroughly  subdued.  Then,  and  not  until  then, 
would  he  be  willing  to  sell  him. 

It  was  late  when  they  rose  from  the  table.  "  I'll 
have  to  hurry,"  he  said,  "  or  the  Bradburys  will  be 
in  bed.  Will  you  sit  up  for  me?  I'd  like  a  glass 
of  milk  and  some  crackers  when  I  get  home.  I'll 
probably  be  hungry." 

"  Oh,  yes,  I'll  wait  for  you,  but  you  had  better 
hurry  back  or  the  neighbors  will  be  inventing  all 
sorts  of  reasons  for  your  absence.  Old  Mrs. 
Hendy,  across  the  street,  will  be  delightfully  sure 
that  you  have  eloped,  and  the  disappointment  when 
you  return  will  be  a  severe  shock  to  her." 

He  laughed,  but  with  reserve.  He  never  entirely 
could  become  used  to  her  flippant  way  of  speaking. 
He  kissed  her  and  went  out. 


CHAPTER  II 

John  passed  around  the  side  of  the  house,  and 
went  back  to  the  stable.  He  pulled  open  the  heavy- 
swinging  doors,  and,  taking  a  lantern  from  a  hook, 
lighted  it.  There  was  a  friendly  whinny  from  one 
of  the  stalls,  and  Dolly,  the  old  gray  mare,  put 
forth  her  head  to  be  caressed.  Her  whole  manner 
seemed  to  breathe  an  assurance  of  affection  and 
trust. 

But  in  the  next  stall  there  was  no  such  demon- 
stration of  affection,  or"  even  of  tolerance.  Prince, 
a  black  gelding,  snorted  in  anger  at  the  interrup- 
tion of  his  evening  meal.  He  hated  this  man  who 
had  bound  him  to  servitude.  His  heart  raged 
within  him  at  the  thought  of  his  own  impotence, 
for  time  and  time  again  he  had  sought  to  gain  his 
freedom,  only  to  undergo  the  humiliation  of  being 
conquered.  He  laid  back  his  ears,  and  his  eyes 
showed  rims  of  white  beneath  the  pupils. 

"  We're  going  for  a  drive,  old  boy,"  said  John 
cheerfully.  He  felt  that  the  horse  wished  him  to 
resent  his  behavior  and  took  delight  in  tormenting 
him. 

Prince  glared  at  him  evilly.     When  John  came 

lO 


THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE    ii 

behind  the  horse  with  the  harness,  Prince  crouched 
down  against  the  side  of  the  stall. 

"  Move  over  there,  Prince,"  John  said  sharply. 

The  horse  did  not  move.  His  ears  clung  closer 
to  his  head,  and  his  lips  twitched  open,  showing 
his  yellow  teeth.    John's  quick  temper  flared  up : 

"  So  you're  looking  for  a  fight,  are  you  ?  Well, 
you'll-get  it."  He  took  down  a  heavy  strap  from 
the  wall  and  advanced  upon  the  horse,  his  face  dark 
with  anger. 

Prince  heard  the  swish  and  nerved  himself  for 
the  blow.  He  flinched,  but  that  was  all.  Again 
came  the  sudden,  merciless  sting;  he  crouched,  but 
held  his  position.  Again — he  snorted  with  pain; 
flesh  and  blood  could  not  stand  this !  He  moved  sul- 
lenly over,  and  in  a  second  John  was  in  the  stall 
and  had  laid  hold  of  the  halter  rope.  The  horse 
was  helpless  for  the  time  being,  and  submitted 
sulkily  to  being  backed  between  the  shafts  and 
hitched  up  to  the  buggy.  Then  he  trotted  submis- 
sively down  the  drive. 

Ruth,  standing  at  the  window,  wondered.  "  I 
guess  I  was  foolish  about  him,"  she  said  to  her- 
self. "  He  seems  gentle  enough  now."  She  waved 
her  hand  to  John,  and  stood  watching  until  the 
carriage  was  lost  to  her  sight. 

John  settled  back  to  enjoy  the  drive.  In  a  mo- 
ment they  had  passed  through  the  village  and  were 


12    THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE 

out  in  the  country.  The  night  was  clear,  and  the 
low,  musical  hum  of  myriads  of  insects  was  borne 
to  his  ears  pleasantly.  The  katydid  proclaimed 
shrilly  her  centuries-old  accusation,  and  the  bull- 
frog boomed  out  his  melancholy  bass  in  a  neigh- 
boring swamp.  The  rising  moon  threw  the  long 
shadows  of  the  trees  across  the  road  in  strange,  dis- 
torted shapes,  between  which  glistened  patches  of 
pure  white. 

He  cast  a  look  around  at  the  beauties  of  the 
night,  then  forgot  them,  and  fell  to  thinking  of 
Sam  Brunt  and  his  business.  Presently  his  thoughts 
took  a  different  turn. 

"  Women  are  funny,"  he  said  to  himself.  "  How 
Ruth  did  pitch  into  me  about  Finn  Jones!  But  I 
was  right,"  he  went  on  doggedly,  "  Finn  is  a 
worthless  cuss.  H  he  hadn't  been  speculating  and 
sowing  more  than  he  ought,  the  loss  of  his  wheat 
wouldn't  have  ruined  him,  and,  if  he  had  taken  in- 
surance on  his  barn,  its  burning  down  wouldn't  have 
knocked  him  out.  The  trouble  is,  Finn  is  shiftless, 
and  he  is  one  of  those  fellows  who  are  always  blat- 
ting  about  circumstances.  A  man  makes  his  own 
circumstances,  if  he  is  any  good.  Napoleon  said 
something  like  that  once,  and  he  was  dead  right. 
There  isn't  anything  that  can  down  a  man  if  he 
is  determined  to  get  on.  I  ought  to  know — thrown 
out  on  the  world  when  I  was  nothing  but  a  child, 


THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE     13 

with  a  mother  to  support.  Supposing  I  had  sat 
down  and  begun  to  cry  about  circumstances,  where 
would  I  have  been?  But  I  got  out  and  hustled — 
that's  all  a  man  has  to  do,  hustle  and  keep  on  hus- 
tling— ^and  use  a  little  common  sense." 

He  laughed.  "  Yes,  that's  what  Finn  lacks,  hus- 
tle and  common  sense.  Work!  Lord,  he  doesn't 
know  what  work  is;  just  rushes  at  a  thing — and 
then  drops  it." 

From  time  to  time,  John  felt  a  vague  surprise 
at  Prince's  unusual  docility,  but  that  it  had  any  sig- 
nificance never  once  entered  his  mind;  if  it  had  oc- 
curred to  him,  he  would  have  laughed  it  away.  He 
was  one  of  the  men  who  believe  only  what  can  be 
proved.  This  class  of  men  are  called  hard-headed 
and  clear-thinking  by  their  own  generation,  but  how 
are  they  characterized  by  the  next? 

The  miles  rolled  leisurely  away  behind;  Prince 
was  not  traveling  at  his  accustomed  speed.  Finally 
John  thought  of  a  thick,  black  cigar  in  his  pocket. 
He  reached  for  it,  and  settled  it  between  his  teeth, 
searching  through  his  pockets  for  a  match.  At 
first  he  could  not  find  one. 

"  What  infernal  luck!  "  he  growled. 

But  there  was  one,  and  at  last  he  found  it.  In- 
stantly it  assumed  an  important  place  in  his  life. 
There  it  was — his  last  match.  Should  the  wind — 
there  was  a  gentle  breeze  blowing — extingfuish  it. 


14    THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE 

he  would  be  plunged  into  the  deepest  gloom.  On 
the  other  hand,  if  its  flame  lasted  long  enough  to 
ignite  the  cigar,  he  would  be  happy  out  of  all  pro- 
portion to  the  cause.  He  examined  the  head,  and 
was  gratified  to  find  that  it  was  large  and  well 
formed.  It  was  a  worthy  sample  of  its  class.  He 
considered  gravely  whether  he  had  better  strike  it 
on  the  sole  of  his  shoe  or  on  the  iron  alongside  the 
seat,  and  decided  in  favor  of  the  iron;  his  shoe  might 
be  damp  from  walking  across  the  lawn  at  home.  He 
stopped  Prince,  and  half  turned  in  his  seat  to  face 
the  wind. 

Prince  knew,  by  the  inexplicable  instinct  which 
animals  have,  that  his  master  was  off  his  guard. 
He  gathered  himself  for  a  spring.  The  match 
flared  up.    He  was  oflf  like  a  shot. 

John's  first  thought  was  one  of  anger  that  he 
had  failed  to  get  a  light.  He  swore  at  the  horse, 
and  jerked  viciously  on  the  lines.  But  Prince  had 
the  bit  firmly  between  his  teeth,  and  John's  strength 
counted  for  no  more  than  the  puny  eflforts  of  a 
child.  Slowly  it  dawned,  on  the  man  that  the 
horse  was  running  away.  A  mile  ahead,  less  than 
a  mile,  there  was  a  sharp  turn  in  the  road  where 
it  ran  alongside  a  gully.  If  he  could  not  stop 
Prince  before  that  was  reached,  the  chances  were 
that  there  would  be  a  bad  accident.  A  sudden  fear 
of  impending  disaster  clutched  at  his  heart,  but  he 


THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE     15 

dismissed  the  fear  almost  as  soon  as  it  was  born. 
He  had  conquered  the  animal  before, — he  would  do 
it  again. 

Prince  was  fired  with  the  thought  of  success. 
At  last  he  was  the  master:  that  helpless  thing  back 
there  in  the  wagon  was  his  to  do  with  as  he  pleased. 
And  he  meant  to  kill  him,  kill  him  if  it  meant  his 
own  death  as  well.  Prince  knew  as  exactly  as  did 
John  where  the  gully  was,  and  into  it  he  meant  to 
hurl  himself,  pulling  after  him  the  carriage  in  which 
was  the  man  he  hated. 

A  savage  joy,  the  heritage  of  some  wild  ancestor 
of  the  plains,  awoke  in  him  and  wrought  a  frenzy 
in  his  brain.  An  irresistible  passion  for  liberty 
surged  through  his  veins.  His  nostrils  dilated,  and 
he  shook  his  head  joyfully.  What  mattered  it 
whether  or  not  he  died  ?  He  was  free — free !  Every 
hoof -beat  cried  out  in  exultation — he  was  free! 

The  man  did  not  lose  his  head ;  he  exerted  every 
trick  of  horsemanship  he  knew,  but  it  was  useless; 
the  maddened  horse  resisted  all  efforts  at  control. 
They  were  nearing  the  gully  now,  John  could  see  the 
trees  lining  its  edge.  It  was  characteristic  of  the 
man  that  he  never  once  thought  of  jumping:  he  was 
one  of  the  kind  who  stick  to  the  ship  until  the  last. 

Could  he  make  the  turn  ?  There  was  one  chance 
in  a  thousand.  He  gathered  himself  for  the  effort. 
A  second,  and  they  had  reached  the  bend.    John 


i6    THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE 

rose  in  his  seat,  and  threw  the  whole  weight  of  his 
body  on  the  left  rein.    It  snapped. 

Another  second  and  they  were  over  the  brink. 
There  was  a  snort  of  pain  from  Prince,  a  sicken- 
ing crash.  Something  struck  the  man  on  the  head, 
and  darkness  spread  before  his  eyes,  but  even  in 
that  moment  his  dominance  of  character  asserted 
itself,  even  then  he  would  not  admit  defeat.  He 
struggled  against  the  blackness  that  was  closing  in 
on  him,  straining  open  his  eyes,  gripping  frantically 
at  his  receding  consciousness. 

Could  this  be  his  end?  No — he  would  not  be- 
lieve it. 


CHAPTER  III 

After  the  carriage  had  passed  out  of  sight,  Ruth 
turned  away  from  the  window,  and  took  up  her 
sewing.  Prince's  seeming  gentleness  had  reassured 
her.  "  Maybe  I  was  fooHsh  about  him,"  she  said 
to  herself. 

The  intense  happiness  of  the  afternoon  had  given 
way  to  a  deep  content.  It  seemed  wonderful  to 
her  that  she  had  John's  love,  and  he  was  so  big 
and  strong,  so  well  able  to  protect  her  against  the 
world.  She  felt  sorry  for  women  married  to  weak, 
insignificant  men.  As  she  stitched  on  the  small  gar- 
ment, she  looked  out  confidently  into  the  joy- 
laden  future.  Her  crowning  happiness  of  all 
was  yet  to  come :  she  was  to  be  a  mother.  At  times 
it  seemed  to  her  as  if  she  would  be  smothered  by 
the  emotion  that  surged  into  her  breast  when  she 
thought  of  her  child.  Motherhood  was  not  a  light 
matter  to  her;  she  looked  upon  it  as  a  sacred  privi- 
lege. She  prayed  nightly  that  she  might  be  worthy, 
might  bring  up  her  child  to  be  good  and  true,  to 
love  his  fellow-man  and  respect  his  Maker.  If  it 
were  a  boy,  she  would  wish  him  to  be  like  John, 
to  grow  up  big  and  strong  and  masterful.     She 

X7 


i8    THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE 

would  not  want  him  to  be  quite  so  stern,  though. 
A  tiny  pucker  appeared  in  her  brow,  but  the  next 
instant  it  was  smoothed  away.  She  hoped  the  child 
would  be  a  boy,  yet  sometimes  the  companionship 
of  a  daughter  appealed  to  her  more,  a  daughter 
who  would  love  her,  and  care  for  her  when  she 
was  old. 

Finally  she  laid  aside  her  sewing,  and  leaned 
back  in  her  chair,  giving  herself  up  to  pleasurable 
thoughts.  Gradually  her  eyelids  drooped.  She 
slept. 

She  was  awakened  by  a  feeling  of  apprehension. 
It  seemed  almost  as  if  John  were  crying  out  to  her. 

She  started  up.  "  What  is  it,  John  ?  "  she  called. 
"  I  am  here — here  in  the  library." 

But  no  John  answered.  She  ran  to  the  doer, 
and  looked  out  on  the  porch.  She  went  around  the 
corner  of  the  house,  and  back  to  the  barn,  but  it 
was  empty,  save  for  old  Dolly,  who  was  placidly 
crunching  on  her  hay.  She  returned  uncertainly  to 
the  house. 

"  I  must  have  been  dreaming,"  she  told  herself, 
yet  the  vague  impression  of  disaster  remained. 

She  looked  at  the  clock.  It  was  after  nine.  John 
should  have  been  home  before  this.  In  a  flash  it 
came  to  her;  there  had  been  an  accident,  and  John 
needed  her.  Without  waiting  to  get  her  hat  and 
coat,  she  ran  to  the  barn. 


THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE     19 

"  I  must  harness  up  Dolly,  and  go  to  him,"  she 
said  to  herself. 

It  was  hard  to  take  the  heavy  harness  from  the 
peg,  it  was  hard  to  fit  it  onto  Dolly's  back.  Ruth 
was  very  small,  and  the  horse  was  large.  The  girl 
had  to  stand  on  a  box  which  rocked  precariously, 
standing  as  it  did  on  the  straw  in  the  stall.  She 
could  not  have  put  on  the  bridle  at  all  had  not  Dolly 
lowered  her  head  helpfully. 

"  We  must  go  to  John,"  she  kept  telling  the 
horse.    "  We  must  hurry,  we  must  go  to  John." 

She  led  the  gray  mare  out,  and  backed  her  be- 
tween the  shafts  of  the  delivery  wagon;  it  was  the 
only  vehicle  left. 

All  this  time  she  would  allow  but  one  thought 
to  possess  her  mind — she  must  reach  John  as 
quickly  as  possible,  but  now,  when  she  climbed  into 
the  wagon,  and  there  was  nothing  to  do  but  wait, 
while  Dolly  plodded  along,  the  full  force  of  terror 
swept  over  her.  She  could  see  the  accident  as  if 
it  were  happening  before  her  eyes, — the  frightened, 
plunging  horse,  the  efforts  of  his  driver  to  quiet 
him,  the  sudden  dash  forward,  the  carriage  striking 
against  a  tree,  or  no — the  gully! 

Yes;  that  was  the  place:  she  was  sure  of  it. 
Prince  had  overturned  the  carriage  down  the  gully. 
A  sob  of  dismay  escaped  from  her  lips.  She  urged 
Dolly,  on.    The  beauty  of  the  night  grated  on  her 


20    THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE 

nerves.  Was  it  possible  that  this  was  the  same 
night  that  she  had  thought  so  perfect  ?  Now  every- 
thing was  changed.  In  every  shadow  lurked  a  fear, 
in  every  patch  of  moonlight  John's  face,  white  and 
cold.  There  was  a  sinister  quality  in  the  air,  and 
the  breeze,  stirring  the  tree-tops,  drew  from  them 
moans  and  sighings.  A  tall  tree,  shattered  by  light- 
ning, raised  its  gaunt  arms  to  heaven,  standing 
ghostly  in  the  moonlight,  and  she  almost  cried  out 
at  the  sight  of  it.  The  howling  of  a  dog  in  the 
distance  brought  added  terror  to  her  heart.  She 
remembered  the  old  wives'  fable,  that  a  dog  always 
howls  when  some  one  dies. 

"  John,"  she  cried  wildly,  "  wait  for  me !  I  am 
coming !  "  She  spoke  the  words  again  and  again, 
as  if  he  could  hear  them. 

Then  her  mind  became  calmer.  "  I  must  not  be 
foolish,"  she  told  herself.  "  It  may  have  been  only 
a  dream." 

Hope,  so  far  lying  dormant,  sprang  up. 
"  Maybe  when  I  go  around  the  next  turn  in  the  road 
I  shall  see  him  driving  along,  and  find  that  nothing 
has  happened." 

Under  the  sway  of  the  new  emotion,  she  could 
almost  hear  his  laugh  when  he  saw  her,  and  aft- 
erwards his  tender  words,  when  he  knew  how 
frightened  she  had  been. 

But  the  bend  was  passed,  and  John  did  not  come. 


THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE    21 

Disappointment,  coming  swiftly  on  the  heels  of 
hope,  doubled  her  fears.  She  could  believe  only  the 
worst  now.  Her  mind  reeled  under  its  misery,  and 
her  heart  beat  in  great,  straining  throbs,  that  shook 
her  whole  body.  Her  hands  trembled  so  that  she 
could  hardly  hold  the  reins. 

It  seemed  countless  ages  before  the  gully  came 
in  sight.  She  was  so  sure  that  it  was  there  the 
disaster  had  occurred  that  she  scarcely  looked  along 
the  rest  of  the  road.  Now  she  stood  up,  lashing 
Dolly  frantically,  and  calling  out  to  her,  for  God's 
sake  to  hurry !  Her  tone  aroused  the  old  gray  mare 
to  a  sense  of  calamity,  and  she  broke  into  a  lum- 
bering gallop.  Ruth  strained  her  eyes  to  catch  a 
glimpse  of  the  hand-rail  at  the  edge  of  the  gully. 
If  that  were  unbroken !  At  first  she  thought  it  was. 
It  seemed  to  stretch  its  silver  threadlike  course 
uninterrupted  along  the  edge  of  the  abyss.  A  cry 
of  joy  broke  from  her  lips.  How  foolish  she  had 
been!  She  raised  her  head,  and  drank  in  the  cool 
night  air.  How  beautiful  everything  was!  The 
chirp  of  the  crickets  came  to  her  ear  like  a  benedic- 
tion. The  breeze  echoed  her  relief  in  friendly  mur- 
murings  among  the  tree-tops.  Some  wild  flowers 
by  the  roadside  offered  up  their  fragrance  as  an 
incense.  Everything  was  peaceful  and  beautiful. 
Yes,  she  had  been  foolish.  It  had  been  only  a 
dream.     Probably  John  had  taken  the  other  road 


22    THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE 

home,  and  that  is  why  she  had  missed  meeting  him. 
She  looked  up  at  the  stars,  and  smiled. 

Then  her  eyes  came  back  to  the  hand-rail.  Her 
heart  seemed  to  stop  beating.  There,  in  the  mid- 
dle, was  a  great  gap.  She  could  see  the  splintered 
ends.  One  piece,  broken  off,  lay  on  the  brink  of 
the  gully,  pointing  derisively  down  into  the  black- 
ness. 

She  stopped  the  horse,  and  half  climbed,  half 
fell  out  of  the  wagon,  and  gazed  fearfully  down 
into  the  darkness.  She  could  distinguish  nothing 
but  the  trees  and  underbrush,  yet  she  knew  that 
somewhere  down  there  was  John,  perhaps,  prob- 
ably, dead.  Without  thinking,  she  sprang  down 
the  steep  incline.  She  fell,  rolling  over  and  over, 
striking  against  trees  and  bushes,  until,  bruised  and 
breathless,  she  brought  up  against  the  shattered 
buggy.  She  lay  still  a  moment,  stunned;  then  she 
sat  up  weakly. 

"  John!  "  she  called,  in  a  trembling  voice.  "  Oh, 
John!" 

There  was  no  answer,  save  the  erratic  beating 
of  her  own  heart.  She  stared  about  her  wildly, 
seeking  to  pierce  the  gloom.  She  tried  to  rise  to 
her  feet,  but  found  that  she  lacked  the  strength. 
She  crawled  forward,  groping  for  her  husband,  cry- 
ing out  to  him,  hoping  against  hope  that  he  might 
hear  her.     Her  body  was  full  of  pain  now,  and 


THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE    23 

she  felt  deathly  sick  and  faint,  but  she  clenched  her 
teeth.    "  I  must  find  him.    I  must,"  she  sobbed. 

She  crawled  aimlessly  this  way  and  that,  often 
covering  the  same  ground  a  second  and  third  time. 
Then  she  stopped,  and  considered. 

"  I  will  never  find  him  this  way,"  she  moaned. 
"  I  must  take  each  side  separately." 

And  at  last  she  found  him,  lying  in  an  inert 
heap.  She  fell  upon  him,  covering  his  cold  face 
with  kisses,  begging  him  to  speak  to  her.  Sud- 
denly his  eyelids  fluttered  under  her  lips. 

"  He  is  alive,"  she  told  herself  in  a  kind  of  won- 
dering joy.    "  John  is  alive.    I  must  get  help." 

She  staggered  to  her  feet,  imbued  with  new 
strength.  But  how  could  she  ever  get  out  of  the 
gully  ?  She  forced  her  mind  back  to  steady  action. 
There  must  be  a  way  out.  She  used  to  come  here 
and  play  with  her  dolls  when  she  was  a  little  girl. 
Yes,  there  must  be  a  way,  but  where?  She  stood 
swaying,  holding  to  a  tree  for  support.  Where 
was  it?  Oh !  now  she  knew;  there  was  a  path  lead- 
ing up  from  the  little  stream,  but  where  was  the 
stream?  She  held  her  breath,  listening  for  the 
gurgle  of  its  waters.  She  heard  it,  faintly  at  first, 
then  louder  as  she  made  her  unsteady  way  toward 
it.  And  she  found  the  path  winding  steeply  up  the 
bank.  She  wondered  how  she  could  ever  accom- 
plish the  climb.     She  remembered  that  even  as  a 


24    THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE 

child  she  could  hardly  do  it,  and  she  had  been  a 
strong,  agile  youngster.  Now!  She  paused  in  de- 
spair. Then  she  rallied  herself.  "  It  is  for  John," 
she  urged.    "  I  must  do  it  for  John." 

She  started  up,  slipping,  crawling,  grasping  at 
bushes  for  aid,  clawing  at  stones,  until  her  hands 
were  torn  and  bleeding.  But  she  would  not  give 
up.  It  was  for  John.  She  must — for  John !  Half- 
way up  she  fainted,  but  with  the  first  glimmer  of 
consciousness  she  struggled  on.  The  path  was  not 
so  steep  here,  and  she  gained  inch  by  inch. 

At  last  she  reached  the  top,  and  sought  to  climb 
into  the  wagon.  She  tried  again  and  again,  but  fell 
back  exhausted.  So  she  desisted,  and,  clinging 
weakly  to  Dolly's  bridle,  turned  her  faltering  steps 
toward  the  nearest  house. 

Fortunately  the  farmer  was  just  locking  up  for 
the  night,  when  the  little  cavalcade  moved  up  to 
the  door,  and  so  he  heard  Ruth  stagger  onto  the 
porch.  He  opened  the  door  and  stood  looking  in 
amazement  at  the  bedraggled  figure.  She  whis- 
pered the  news,  and  fell  fainting  at  his  feet.  He 
picked  her  up,  and  carried  her  with  rough  tender- 
ness into  the  house,  and  gave  her  into  his  wife's 
charge,  while  he  aroused  the  hired  man,  and  started 
for  the  gully. 

Then  came  eternities  of  time  when  Ruth's  frame 
was  racked  with  agony,  when  horrible  shapes  op- 


THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE    25 

pressed  her  dreams — grinning  fiends  snatching  John 
from  her  arms,  and  rending  him  limb  from  limb, 
and  her  with  him.  There  were  blessed  intervals 
of  oblivion,  then  awakenings  again  to  the  awful 
torture.  She  seemed  to  be  floating  in  a  sea  of  pain 
— why,  she  knew  not;  there  was  room  in  her  mind 
for  but  one  emotion — suffering.  Days  passed  into 
nights,  and  nights  into  other  days,  but  the  divisions 
of  time  meant  nothing  to  her. 

At  last  glimmering  reason  returned,  and  she 
heard  a  faint  wail  and  knew.  She  stretched  forth 
her  arms  to  receive  the  tiny  bundle,  but  the  effort 
was  too  great,  and  blackness  overpowered  her. 
From  time  to  time  she  roused  to  hear  the  wailing 
cry,  and  it  comforted  her,  but  there  came  a  day 
when  she  heard  it  no  more.  She  asked  for  her  baby, 
pleading  with  her  eyes,  for  she  was  too  weak  to 
speak,  and  they  endeavored  to  soothe  her  with  en- 
dearing meaningless  phrases. 

As  soon  as  she  could  talk,  she  demanded  her  child. 
They  lied  to  her  at  first,  and  tried  to  quiet  her,  but 
she  would  not  be  quieted.  So  at  last  they  told  her 
— the  child  was  dead.  She  gave  one  despairing  cry, 
and  sank  into  unconsciousness.  After  this  she  hov- 
ered on  the  border  line  between  life  and  death  for 
weeks.  When  she  ag^in  became  conscious,  she  did 
not  ask  for  the  child,  nor  did  she  refer  to  it.  Now 
her  one  hope  was  John. 


CHAPTER  IV 

Never,  in  Its  recent  history,  had  Harbury  known 
such  a  sensation  as  that  to  which  it  awoke  on  the 
morning  after  the  accident.  The  news  flew  from 
mouth  to  mouth  until  there  was  not  a  man,  woman, 
or  child  in  the  village  who  was  ignorant  of  the 
fact  that  John  Lawson  had  been  probably  fatally 
injured,  and  that  his  wife  also  was  lying  at  the 
point  of  death.  It  was  on  the  stroke  of  seven  when 
Doctor  Northall,  leaving  John's  house,  told  Jed 
Tyler,  who  happened  to  be  passing.  At  seven-fifteen 
it  would  have  been  impossible  to  surprise  a  person 
in  Harbury  with  the  news;  everyone  had  heard  it. 

In  the  human  mind  there  is  a  craving  for  excite- 
ment which  at  times  overshadows  every  other  emo- 
tion. Especially  is  this  craving  rampant  in  small 
villages  where  excitement  is  a  rarity.  It  is  safe  to 
say  that  Harbury  as  a  whole  had  not  been  as  happy 
as  it  was  that  day  since  the  spectacular  fire  which 
had  destroyed  Finn  Jones's  barn. 

Nor  did  the  excitement  die  down  when  it  was 
learned  that  a  child  had  been  born  to  Ruth  and 
that  both  it  and  the  mother  were  very  near  to  death. 
When  it  did  die,  a  public  funeral  was  planned  by 

86 


THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE    27 

the  farmer's  wife,  at  whose  house  Ruth  was  lying 
unconscious.  All  Harbury  turned  out  to  this  fu- 
neral. Mrs.  Bradbury  rose  from  a  bed  of  sickness 
to  attend,  and  basked  in  the  light  of  reflected  im- 
portance, for  it  had  been  her  house  to  which  John 
was  going  when  the  accident  happened.  As  she 
said,  if  she  had  not  taken  a  notion  to  run  into  the 
store  and  order  a  case  of  canned  corn,  the  accident 
would  not  have  occurred.  She  was,  therefore, 
looked  upon  as  a  modest  tool  in  the  hands  of 
Providence. 

The  obsequies  of  the  tiny  mite  were  rendered 
more  interesting  by  the  fact  that  it  had  not  been 
baptized  before  it  died,  and  discussion  ran  high  as 
to  whether  or  not  its  soul  had  found  a  refuge  in 
heaven.  It  may  seem  strange  that  anyone  would 
attribute  to  the  Deity  the  damning  of  a  soul — least 
of  all  a  baby's  soul — on  a  mere  technicality,  but  it 
is  hardly  stranger  than  the  opinion  held  by  prac- 
tically all  of  Harbury,  that  it  was  God  Himself 
who  had  brought  about  the  accident  as  a  punish- 
ment for  the  sinful  levity  of  John  Lawson's  wife. 

But  as  the  weeks  went  by,  and  neither  John  nor 
Ruth  died,  the  excitement  subsided,  to  be  replaced 
by  a  vague  disappointment — the  inexplicable  feel- 
ing of  regret  one  has  on  looking  through  an  obitu- 
ary column,  and  finding  there  the  name  of  no  one 
whom  one  knows.    Still  there  was  one  interesting 


28    THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE 

topic  of  conversation  left — the  financial  condition 
of  the  Lawsons. 

John  was  still  unconscious  and  helpless,  and  those 
who  had  it  direct  from  Doctor  Northall  declared 
that  he  would  never  be  any  better.  His  mother  was 
trying  to  run  the  store,  but  after  the  first  few  days, 
during  which  crowds  had  flocked  in  to  find  out, 
under  cover  of  a  purchase,  how  she  was  standing 
the  calamity,  trade  had  rapidly  fallen  off.  It  was 
the  general  verdict  that  she  would  have  to  sell  out. 
The  presence  of  Sam  Brunt  in  Harbury  gave  color 
to  this  prediction,  and  it  was  rumored  that  he  had 
already  made  an  offer  which  Mrs.  Lawson,  Sr., 
was  considering. 

The  dashing  of  anyone  from  a  pinnacle  is  always 
an  enlivening  sight,  and  it  was  not  otherwise  in 
this  case.  John  Lawson  had  been  recognized  as  a 
coming  man,  and  was  envied  accordingly,  while 
Ruth's  light  spirits,  and  no  less,  her  dresses,  had 
caused  jealousy  in  the  breast  of  feminine  Harbury. 
So  the  community  loudly  expressed  sympathy,  and 
secretly  rejoiced,  looking  forward  to  the  outcome  of 
all  this  with  as  keen  interest  as  was  occasioned  by 
the  struggles  to  the  death  in  the  Coliseum  of  an- 
cient Rome. 

Ruth  did  not  learn  of  John's  condition  for  some 
time.  They  had  told  her  that  John  was  all  right, 
and  explained  his  absence  from  her  bedside  by  tell- 


THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE    29" 

ing  her  that  he  was  confined  to  his  house  by  a  broken 
leg.  But  when  she  wished  to  dictate  a  letter  to 
him,  asking  him  to  write  to  her,  they  could  keep 
her  no  longer  in  ignorance. 

She  did  not  weep,  her  misery  was  too  great. 
She  lay  wordless,  praying  that  she  might  die,  pray- 
ing with  all  the  religious  fervor  of  her  nature  that 
this  cup  might  be  permitted  to  pass  from  her,  that 
she  might  sink  into  grateful  death,  and  be  buried 
with  her  baby. 

But  inexorable  Nature  decreed  that  she  should 
live,  and  day  by  day  she  felt  the  strength  creep  back 
into  her  body.  Then  a  new  train  of  thought  awak- 
ened in  her  mind ;  it  was  her  duty  to  get  well  so  that 
she  might  care  for  John.  From  the  moment  this 
thought  laid  hold  upon  her,  she  did  all  she  could 
to  regain  her  health.  Yet  spring  melted  into  sum- 
mer, and  summer  hardened  into  fall,  before  she  was 
strong  enough  to  be  taken  home. 

It  was  not  until  then  that  she  realized  the  full 
force  of  the  calamity.  Instead  of  the  home  to  which 
she  had  expected  to  come,  she  was  brought  to  a 
little  cottage  in  the  poor  part  of  the  town,  where 
John  and  his  mother  were  now  living.  The  lease  on 
the  other  house  had  been  given  up,  not,  however, 
without  the  payment  of  a  bonus,  for  the  old  deacon 
who  owned  it  did  not  believe  in  mixing  business  and 
charity.    The  money  which  had  been  derived  from 


30    THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE 

the  sale  of  the  store  was  all  that  stood  between  them 
and  starvation — and  it  was  a  pitifully  small  sum. 
John's  mother  told  Ruth  all  this  between  sobs,  but 
the  news,  instead  of  daunting  the  girl,  stimulated 
her. 

"  I  will  work,"  she  said.  "  I  must  hurry  and  get 
well,  and  then  I  will  find  something  to  do.  We 
shall  come  out  all  right." 

The  older  woman  wrung  her  hands.  "  Oh,  that 
my  son's  wife  should  come  to  this!  "  she  moaned. 

Ruth  put  her  arms  around  the  trembling  form. 
"  Don't  worry,  mother,"  she  comforted.  "  Every- 
thing will  come  out  all  right.  I  do  not  mind  work- 
ing. Indeed,  it  will  be  best  for  me  to  have  my  mind 
occupied.  And  maybe  some  day  John  will  be  well 
again." 

"  We  can  only  hope  and  pray.  Oh,  Ruth !  why 
has  God  sent  this  thing  to  us?  John  was  always 
such  a  good  boy.  Why  should  he  be  stricken  down 
like  this?  It  doesn't  seem  right.  I  can't  believe 
that  it  can  be  for  the  best." 

Ruth  stroked  the  gray  hair.  "  We  must  try  not 
to  think  of  it,"  she  said  tenderly.  "  Some  day  we 
may  know.    Will  you  let  me  see  John  now  ?  " 

The  old  lady  rose  and  led  the  way.  "  You  will 
see  a  great  difference,"  she  said  sadly. 

But  even  this  did  not  prepare  Ruth.  She  stag- 
gered back  aghast  at  the  sight  of  his  thin,  white 


THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE    31 

face.  It  seemed  to  her  as  if  he  surely  must  be 
dead.  He  lay  as  motionless  as  a  corpse,  and  there 
was  not  a  sign  of  color  in  his  face  to  make  it  lifelike. 
It  was  as  white  as  the  bandage  bound  tightly  around 
his  head.  Ruth  would  not  have  known  that  it  was 
John  at  all,  from  his  features.  It  seemed  to  her 
as  if  it  were  a  stranger  lying  there.  She  could 
hardly  persuade  herself  to  go  near  him,  and  when 
she  did,  and  knelt  by  his  bedside,  taking  his  cold 
hand  in  hers,  she  had  a  feeling  of  unreality.  It 
seemed  impossible  that  this  was  her  John.  She  was 
glad  to  escape  from  the  room. 

That  night  she  helped  John's  mother  to  get  the 
supper.  She  was  determined  now  to  be  strong; 
she  had  a  powerful  incentive;  she  must  work  for 
John. 

The  next  morning  she  paid  a  visit  which  she  had 
long  had  in  mind. 

"  Doctor  Northall,"  she  began  abruptly,  when  she 
was  admitted  to  his  office,  "  what  are  the  chances 
of  John's  recovery  ?  " 

The  doctor,  a  gray-haired  old  man,  his  face 
seamed  with  the  cares  and  worries  of  a  lifetime  of 
toil  for  his  fellow-man,  forced  a  smile  to  his  face. 

"  Splendid ! "  he  exclaimed.  "  John  has  a 
rugged  constitution.  He  is  young.  Everything  is 
in  his  favor.    He " 

Ruth  held  up  her  hand  to  stop  him.     "  I  want 


32    THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE 

the  truth,  doctor,"  she  said  quietly.  "  It  is  mis- 
taken kindness  to  tell  me  anything  else." 

His  face  became  serious.  "  You  are  right,"  he 
said,  after  a  moment.  "  The  truth  is  kindest.  You 
ask  me  what  are  your  husband's  chances  of  recov- 
ery. I  am  afraid,  Ruth,  that  they  are  slight.  There 
is  some  obscure  process,  possibly  a  clot,  exerting 
pressure  at  the  base  of  the  brain." 

"  Couldn't  an  operation  be  performed  ?  " 

He  shook  his  head.  "  There  would  not  be  one 
chance  in  a  thousand  of  its  being  a  success.  It 
would  probably  mean  instant  death." 

"  Won't  he  ever  be  any  better?"  faltered  Ruth. 
"  Will  he  always  be  just  as  he  is  now?  " 

"  Not  necessarily.  If  the  trouble  is  from  a  clot, 
there  is  a  good  chance  that  it  may  be  absorbed, 
and  then  he  will  be  all  right  again." 

"And  if  it  isn't  that — if  it  is  something  else?" 

"  He  may  die.  He  may  live  on  for  some  time 
as  he  is." 

Ruth  rose.  "  Thank  you,  doctor,  for  telling  me 
the  truth."  She  extended  her  hand,  and  smiled 
bravely. 

The  old  man's  face  twitched.  "  My  brave  little 
girl,"  he  said  pityingly.  He  tried  to  say  more,  but 
his  voice  choked. 

When  she  had  gone,  he  paced  the  floor  with  trou- 
bled strides. 


THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE    33 

"  And  I  am  helpless,"  he  groaned.  "  I  am  as 
helpless  as  a  student  at  his  first  complicated  case. 
What  a  fool  I  am!"  He  blamed  himself  for  his 
lack  of  knowledge.  "I  am  a  fool,  a  poor  igno- 
rant fool.  If  they  only  had  money,"  he  went  on 
despondently,  "  so  that  they  could  command  the 
services  of  Doctor  Winfield  or  Doctor  Barney,  I  be- 
lieve the  operation  could  be  attempted.  It  would 
mean  death  or  a  cure,  but,  God  knows,  he  would  be  a 
thousand  times  better  off  dead  than  he  is  now. 
Money ! "  he  exclaimed  bitterly.  "  Everything 
hinges  on  money.  Sometimes  I  think  that  those 
who  devote  their  lives  to  amassing  it  are  wisest, 
after  all." 

Ruth  turned  back  down  the  street  after  her  con- 
versation with  the  physician.  There  was  a  singu- 
lar calmness  in  her  mind.  Now  she  could  enter 
the  fight  without  fear  of  ambush — she  knew  the 
worst.  As  she  drew  near  John's  old  store,  the 
thought  of  seeing  another  name  over  the  door  gave 
a  pang.  She  started  to  cross  the  street,  intending 
to  go  by  without  looking,  but  she  would  not  allow 
herself  to  be  guilty  of  such  weakness.  "  I  will 
have  to  get  used  to  it  sooner  or  later,"  she  told 
herself.  When  she  reached  the  store,  she  glanced 
up  at  the  sign,  and  nodded  to  Sam  Brunt,  standing, 
fat  and  complacent,  in  the  doorway.  She  even 
forced  herself  to  ask  him  how  the  business  was 


34    THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE 

coming  on.  Then  she  went  on,  feeling  stronger  for 
the  conquest  of  self. 

She  met  many  people  she  knew,  most  of  whom 
stopped  to  sympathize  with  her,  but  there  was  a 
curiosity  showing  beneath  their  sympathy  which 
grated  upon  her  nerves.  Only  one  made  her  feel 
true,  unaffected  sympathy.  This  one  was  Finn 
Jones. 

He  stopped  awkwardly  before  her,  brushing  his 
soft  hat  nervously  between  his  coarse  hands. 

"  I'm  damn  sorry,  Ruth,"  he  exploded,  and  grew 
fiery  red. 

"  I  know  you  are,  Finn,"  she  answered,  smiling 
at  him,  "  and  I  appreciate  it." 

"  Ain't  there  nuthin'  I  kin  do  ?  Don't  ye  want 
anyone  to  set  up  with  him  or  nuthin'  like  thet? 
I'd  be  glad  if  ye'd  let  me." 

"  No,"  she  answered,  "  but  if  I  do  want  anyone 
to  help  me,  I  will  come  to  you,  Finn." 

She  went  on,  cheered  by  the  man's  kindliness — 
but  the  feeling  was  dashed  by  her  meeting  with  the 
minister  of  the  church  which  she  and  John  had  at- 
tended. Ruth  had  never  liked  the  Reverend  Doc- 
tor Peabody.  He  was  hard  and  cold;  his  heart  con- 
tained little,  if  any,  milk  of  human  kindness.  On 
Christmas  and  Easter  he  preached  of  the  love  and 
mercy  of  God,  and  on  the  other  fifty  Sundays,  of 
His  wrath.    He  loved  to  dwell  upon  the  torments 


THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE    35 

of  hell,  and  delighted  quite  as  much  that  the  souls 
of  all  who  differed  from  him  in  their  theological 
views  would  be  thrown  into  everlasting  torment  as 
he  did  that  his  own,  with  a  limited  number  of  oth- 
ers, should  dwell  in  everlasting  bliss. 

Ruth  tried  to  avoid  him,  but  he  stopped  her, 
and  she  was  forced  to  listen  while  he  emphasized 
the  need  of  her  bending  her  neck  to  the  yoke,  and 
rejoicing  in  the  blow  that  had  come  upon  her.  He 
intimated  that  her  trouble  was  a  divine  plan  for 
her  regeneration. 

She  listened  in  silence,  her  heart  too  bitter  to 
retort,  and  finally  broke  away  and  hurried  home. 

"  To-morrow,"  she  told  John's  mother,  "  I  will 
look  for  something  to  do." 

The  older  woman  protested  that  it  would  be  bet- 
ter to  wait  until  she  was  stronger.  But  Ruth  was 
determined. 

"  It  will  be  better  for  me  to  have  something  to 
do.    I  will  begin  to  look  for  something  to-morrow." 


CHAPTER  V 

Spring  had  come  again,  but  it  brought  no  happi- 
ness to  the  Lawson  household.  John's  physical  con- 
dition had  improved;  he  could  now  sit  up  in  an 
invalid's  chair,  but  his  mentality  rose  no  higher 
than  the  cutting  out  of  paper  dolls,  over  which  he 
chattered  and  crooned  like  a  child  of  three.  The 
sight  of  him  in  this  condition  was  agony  to  Ruth 
and  his  mother,  and  yet  they  had  to  praise  his  ef- 
forts or  else  he  felt  hurt,  and  would  grow  sulky, 
refusing  to  eat.  At  first  Doctor  Northall  had 
derived  hope  from  the  patient's  improved  health, 
but  as  the  days  went  by  and  John's  mind  still  re- 
mained hopelessly  feeble,  he  was  led  to  fear  the 
very  worst — that  John  might  live  to  be  an  old 
man,  waxing  strong  in  body,  while  his  mind 
remained  a  wreck. 

Ruth's  search  for  work  had  proved  futile.  In 
Harbury  there  is  a  prejudice  against  a  woman's 
entering  commercial  life.  Her  sphere,  so  the 
prejudice  argues,  is  the  home,  and  if  it  is  necessary 
that  she  earn  her  daily  bread,  why  then  she  should 
enter  some  other  woman's  home,  where  she  is  per- 
mitted to  do  the  menial  labor  in  return  for  her 

36 


THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE    37 

board  and  lodging  and  a  very  small  sum  of  money. 
Or,  if  she  prefer,  she  may  toil  long  hours  with  the 
needle,  or  take  in  washing;  but  enter  the  rougher, 
harder  commercial  life — no! 

Ruth  had  flung  herself  against  this  barrier  again 
and  again,  only  to  be  driven  back,  for  a  New  Eng- 
land prejudice  is  not  to  be  beaten  down  by  anything 
but  time,  and  plenty  of  it.  So  at  last  she  had  been 
forced  to  bow  to  it,  and  take  in  sewing.  The  pay 
was  meager,  and  Ruth  was  neither  expert  at  dress- 
making nor  was  she  thick-skinned  enough  to  en- 
dure with  composure  the  bullyings  of  the  women  for 
whom  she  worked,  so  her  life  relapsed  into  long- 
drawn-out  days  of  misery.  Still  she  toiled  on,  hop- 
ing against  hope,  but  the  money  she  was  able  to 
earn  was  not  enough  to  defray  expenses,  and  her 
little  capital  was  steadily  dwindling,  until  now  she 
had  reached  the  point  when  some  new  endeavor 
must  be  undertaken.  She  laid  her  sewing  wearily 
aside. 

"  Mother,"  she  said  to  the  old  lady,  who  was 
bustling  around  preparing  supper,  "  it  is  useless  to 
go  on  in  this  way.  I  cannot  make  enough  to  sup- 
port us  here.  I  must  go  somewhere  else :  I  must  go 
to  a  city.  New  York,  I  think,  would  be  the  best 
place." 

The  older  woman  dropped  a  dish  she  was  car- 
rying, and  it  crashed  to  the  floor  unnoticed. 


38    THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE 

"  Not  that !  "  she  cried.  "  Oh,  my  dear,  surely 
not  that!" 

"  I  am  afraid  it  must  be  that,"  answered  Ruth. 
"  You  know  how  I  have  tried  to  get  something  to 
do  besides  sewing,  and  I  have  failed.  Our  money  is 
going.  In  New  York  I  would  be  able  to  earn  more. 
I  could  soon  send  for  you  and  John." 

The  old  lady  sat  down  in  a  chair,  and  folded 
her  trembling  hands. 

"If  I  could  only  help!"  she  said  sorrowfully. 
"  But  I  am  too  old.  This  morning  I  went  to  see 
Mrs.  Braddock.  I  knew  she  wanted  some  one  to 
cook  for  her,  and  I  am  a  good  cook.  I  asked  her 
to  try  me.  She  meant  to  be  very  kind,  but  I  could 
see  that  she  did  not  want  me  because  I  am  so  old." 

"  Oh,  mother,"  remonstrated  Ruth,  "  you 
shouldn't  have  done  that !  It  wasn't  necessary  for 
you  to  do  that !  " 

"  Ruth,"  faltered  the  other,  "  I  can't  let  you  go 
to  New  York.  I  am  afraid.  Wait  a  little  while 
longer.  Maybe  a  way  will  be  shown.  I  can't  be- 
lieve that  God  has  forgotten  us.  He  will  come 
to  our  aid." 

Ruth  replied,  with  a  trace  of  bitterness  in  her 
voice :  "  We  have  waited.  If  we  wait  much  longer, 
we  shall  be  tied  hand  and  foot.  I  do  not  like  the 
idea  of  leaving  you,  and  going  to  New  York,  yet 
it  seems  the  only  way.     Our  money  will  not  last 


THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE    39 

much  longer.  When  it  is  gone,  it  will  be  too  late. 
We  must  act  now.  Besides,"  she  went  on  more 
cheerfully,  "  we  shall  be  separated  for  only  a  short 
time,  a  few  weeks  perhaps.  As  soon  as  I  find  a 
position,  and  I  know  it  will  not  be  long  before  I 
do,  I  will  send  for  you  and  John.  And  I  am  sure 
to  get  on.  You  know,  John  always  said  I  was  very 
smart  about  business.  We  will  live  in  New  York, 
and  we  will  be  happy.  Perhaps  some  day  John 
will  be  well  again." 

But  the  older  woman  did  not  share  her  cheer- 
ful view.  She  had  not  the  buoyant  hope  of  youth. 
To  her  it  seemed  as  if  Ruth  were  going  amongst 
a  pack  of  ravening  wolves.  She  feared  for  the 
girl.  She  mistrusted  the  city.  She  had  seen  other 
girls  go  out  from  their  homes  and  enter  the  gates 
of  the  metropolis,  some  of  them  to  drift  back  again 
in  after  years  shattered  wrecks,  others  to  be  lost 
sight  of  completely.  A  great  bitterness  welled  up 
in  her  soul.  Was  this  her  reward  for  a  lifetime 
of  right  living — to  see  her  son  a  hopeless  wreck, 
and  his  wife  compelled  to  leave  her  home  and  go 
out  into  the  world  to  wrest  from  it  a  living  ? 

An  hour  later,  Ruth  knelt  by  her  open  window, 
gazing  out  into  the  night.  It  was  only  a  year — 
less  than  a  year — ago  that  John  was  hurt,  yet  it 
seemed  ages.  Then  she  was  a  happy,  care-free  girl ; 
now  she  was  a  woman,  weighed  down  with  respon- 


40    THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE 

sibility,  with  her  way  to  make  in  the  world.  She 
thought  of  the  child  who  had  died,  and  was  glad 
of  its  death.  It  was  free  from  the  problems,  the 
relentless  circumstances  that  were  crushing  her. 

The  village  of  Harbury  lay  white  and  peaceful 
in  the  moonlight.  All  her  life  Ruth  had  lived  in 
this  little  village,  and  she  loved  it.  Her  father  and 
mother  had  died  when  she  was  but  a  small  child, 
and  an  aunt  had  taken  her  to  bring  up.  She  had 
been  good  to  Ruth,  and  shielded  her  from  every 
care.  So  the  girl's  life  had  been  like  a  calmly 
flowing  river.  Even  her  love  for  John  had  not  dis- 
turbed its  placidity.  Their  friendship  had  ripened 
so  easily  and  naturally  into  love  that  she  had  expe- 
rienced none  of  the  heartaches,  the  jealousies  that 
come  to  other  women  in  this  most  happy  period  of 
their  lives.  John  had  had  no  rival,  nor  had  she. 
For  once  the  course  of  true  love  had  run  smooth. 
When  John  had  become  established  in  business, 
they  were  married.  Ruth  was  only  nineteen  at  the 
time. 

Looking  out  into  the  star-strewn  sky,  she  won- 
dered if  her  life  would  ever  run  smoothly  again. 
It  seemed  to  her  as  if  the  river  had  now  flowed 
out  into  the  sea  to  be  exposed  to  the  tempest  and 
tumult  of  the  elements.  She  was  to  leave  John, 
to  fare  forth  into  an  unknown  land.  And  yet  the 
thought  of  leaving  him  came  as  a  relief.     It  was 


THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE    41 

far  less  hard  to  be  parted  from  him  altogether  than 
to  see  him  day  after  day,  a  caricature  of  his  former 
self.  Still  there  was  the  depression  of  broken  ties, 
the  sadness  of  ending  the  old  life. 

But  Ruth  was  young,  and  to  the  young  hope  is 
easy.  As  she  turned  her  thoughts  to  the  future, 
her  spirits  revived,  and  she  was  almost  happy  as 
she  speculated  about  her  life  in  New  York.  She 
had  never  been  there,  and  all  that  she  knew  about 
it  was  what  she  had  derived  from  books,  and  yet 
she  thought  of  it  with  a  kind  of  love.  It  was  New 
York,  the  city  of  opportunity,  as  entrancing  and 
romantic  as  a  fairy  city.  Who  could  tell  what  gift 
it  had  in  store  for  her? 

She  imagined  herself  taking  her  place  in  the  in- 
dustrial life.  She  might  begin  in  the  offices  of 
some  great  law  firm,  or  possibly  in  one  of  the  great 
banking  houses  of  Wall  Street,  or  maybe  in  a  store 
— although  that  she  would  not  like  so  well.  But, 
at  any  rate,  she  would  be  one  of  the  cogs  in  the 
great  commercial  machine  that  made  it  the  fore- 
most city  in  the  world.  She  would  be  a  New 
Yorker.  The  thought  gave  her  a  feeling  of 
satisfaction. 

She  meant  to  work  hard;  she  realized  that  work 
was  the  basis  of  success.  She  was  not  going  to 
the  city  like  a  foolish,  silly  girl,  dreaming  of  the 
lights,  the  crowds,  the  good  times.    She  was  going 


42    THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE 

soberly,  in  earnest.  She  would  strive  her  utmost, 
and  she  felt  that  her  efforts  would  be  rewarded. 
Life  must  give  up  its  best  to  those  who  try  hard- 
est; otherwise,  it  would  be  but  a  hollow  mockery. 

And  then  she  prayed,  flinging  her  hopes,  her 
fears,  her  desires  out  into  the  void,  trustful  that 
she  would  be  answered  in  due  season. 

When  she  arose  from  her  knees,  the  first  streaks 
of  daylight  were  beginning  to  tint  the  sky  in  the 
east. 


CHAPTER  VI 

The  train  for  New  York  was  pulling  out  of  Bos- 
ton. In  the  car  in  which  Ruth  was  seated  there 
were  few  passengers.  Across  the  aisle  from  her 
was  a  floridly  well-dressed  man,  who  looked  as 
though  he  might  be  a  commercial  traveler.  He  had 
already  made  several  attempts  to  attract  her  atten- 
tion, and  Ruth  was  very  indignant,  very  embar- 
rassed, and  a  little  frightened.  In  Harbury  such 
a  procedure  was  unknown,  and  now  that  she  was 
traveling  alone  and  among  strangers  it  discon- 
certed her. 

She  had  left  Harbury  early  that  morning.  The 
parting  from  John's  mother  had  been  extremely 
painful  to  the  girl.  The  old  lady  broke  down  com- 
pletely and  implored  Ruth  to  give  up  the  venture. 
She  had  had,  she  said,  a  dream  which  boded  ill 
for  the  girl.  Just  what  the  dream  portended  she 
did  not  know,  but  she  was  sure  that  some  great  evil 
lurked  in  the  future. 

And,  if  the  parting  from  John's  mother  had  been 
hard,  the  parting  from  John  was  doubly  so.  At 
the  very  last  Ruth  threw  herself  on  his  breast,  and 
concentrated  the  whole  power  of  her  love  in  an 

43 


44    THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE 

attempt  to  awaken  his  recognition.  It  was  vain. 
Once  the  shadow  of  some  emotion  flitted  across 
his  face,  and  she  thought  that  she  was  about  to 
succeed,  but  it  passed,  leaving  the  features  as  va- 
cant and  meaningless  as  before. 

But  all  that  was  over  now,  and  she  felt  a  curi- 
ous lightness  of  heart.  She  was  already  embarked 
on  the  new  life;  every  minute  was  sweeping  her 
nearer  New  York,  the  land  of  promise.  And,  when 
her  thoughts  did  stray  back  to  Harbury,  she  re- 
called them,  and  sent  them  out  into  the  future  to 
speculate  on  the  success  that  was  to  be  hers. 

Behind  her  were  a  party  of  theatrical  people; 
this  much  Ruth  gleaned  from  their  conversation,  to 
which  she  gradually  found  herself  listening.  They 
assailed  each  other  with  light-hearted  banter,  and 
one  girl  especially  seemed  to  be  the  object  of  at- 
tack; but  she  was  so  quick,  so  invariably  apt  in 
her  retorts,  that  her  assailant  was  always  left  an 
object  of  hilarious  commiseration,  and  acknowl- 
edged himself  or  herself — as  the  case  might  be — de- 
feated, with  entire  good  humor. 

Ruth  could  not  understand  all  their  talk,  being 
neither  acquainted  with  things  theatrical,  nor  con- 
versant with  metropolitan  slang,  but  their  light- 
heartedness  appealed  to  and  encouraged  her.  She 
felt  that  these  people  had  engaged  in  the  battle  of 
life,  and,  if  they  did  carry  scars,  they  hid  them 


THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE    45 

admirably  under  a  happy  exterior.  She  felt  im- 
pelled to  turn  around  and  see  what  these  merry 
people  looked  like.  She  waited  for  some  moments, 
debating  how  best  to  accomplish  this  observation 
without  her  action  seeming  too  apparent.  At  last, 
just  as  the  whole  party  were  roaring  with  laughter 
over  a  particularly  witty  sally  of  the  girl's,  she 
turned. 

By  some  process  of  telepathy,  the  girl  glanced 
up  at  the  same  instant,  and  Ruth  found  her- 
self gazing  directly  into  the  eyes  of  a  young 
woman  of  about  her  own  age.  She  was  dressed 
in  a  rather  conspicuous  black-and-white  costume, 
and  her  hat  was  just  a  shade  larger  than  the  very 
large  hats  which  Dame  Fashion  had  decreed  were 
the  proper  thing  that  season.  The  face  was  at- 
tractive, with  an  impudent,  piquant  beauty,  and  the 
clear,  friendly,  gray  eyes  gave  an  impression  of 
frank  good  humor.  Before  Ruth  could  recover 
herself,  and  shift  her  gaze,  a  friendly  smile  lighted 
up  the  girl's  face,  and  she  nodded  brightly.  Ruth 
returned  the  smile,  a  feeling  of  warmth  creeping 
into  her  heart. 

As  Ruth  turned  back,  the  smile  still  on  her  face, 
her  glance  happened  to  meet  that  of  the  man  across 
the  aisle,  whom  she  had  completely  forgotten.  To 
her  dismay,  he  bowed  and  raised  his  hat.  She  turned 
to  the  window,  biting  her  lip  in  vexation. 


46    THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE 

The  man  rose  and  strolled  leisurely  to  the  front 
of  the  car,  ostensibly  to  get  a  drink  of  water.  As 
he  turned  to  come  back,  the  conviction  leaped  into 
Ruth's  mind  that  he  meant  to  take  the  seat 
beside  her;  she  was  as  sure  of  it  as  if  he  had  already 
done  so.  A  sudden  panic  seized  her.  She  cast  a 
wild  look  around  for  a  way  of  escape.  Then 
she  thought  of  the  girl  who  had  smiled  at  her. 
She  threw  an  appealing  glance  over  her  shoulder. 
The  girl  was  not  looking  at  her,  but  at  the  man, 
yet  suddenly  she  rose,  and  sauntered  deliberately 
forward,  dropping  into  the  seat  beside  Ruth  with 
easy  grace.  As  she  did  so,  she  glanced  up  at  the 
man  with  humorous  impudence. 

The  man  frowned,  and  resumed  his  former  seat. 

Ruth  turned  to  the  girl  with  a  quick  smile  of 
gratitude.  "  Oh,  thank  you !  "  she  breathed.  "  I 
did  not  know  what  to  do." 

"  I  guess  you're  not  wise  to  those  Johnnies,"  re- 
turned the  other  in  an  amused  tone. 

"  No,"  answered  Ruth  truthfully. 

"If  you  were  on  the  stage,  you  would  soon  get 
used  to  that  sort  of  thing.  Sometimes,  when  you 
come  out  of  the  theater,  you  find  'em  standing  in 
bunches.  And  they're  always  sending  you  notes 
and  flowers,  and  begging  you  to  meet  them  after 
the  show,  and  all  that  kind  of  rot.  Sometimes  they 
get  so  strenuous  that  it  gets  tiresome.     When  I 


THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE    47 

was  playing  the  Western  circuit,  there  was  an  old 
duck  who  used  to  follow  me  around  from  one  place 
to  another.  I  got  sick  of  it,  so  one  night  I  made 
myself  up  to  look  about  forty-nine  and  a  half,  and 
put  on  a  dress  that  made  me  look  as  if  I  had  a 
shape  like  a  drink  of  water.  Then  I  went  out  and 
met  him — I  had  written  I  would.  You  ought  to 
have  seen  his  face  when  he  saw  me.  He  was  game, 
and  stuck,  but  I'll  bet  he  had  the  worst  evening  he 
ever  had  in  his  life,  and  I  stuck  him  for  champagne, 
and  ordered  the  most  expensive  things  I  could  find 
on  the  bill  of  fare." 

She  laughed  merrily  at  the  recollection,  and  Ruth 
smiled,  although  it  did  not  seem  quite  right  to  her 
for  a  girl  to  meet  a  strange  man,  nor  could  she  ap- 
prove of  drinking  champagne. 

"  By  the  way,"  the  girl  went  on,  "  my  name's 
Lory  Williams,  I  hold  down  a  soubrette  part  in 
*  The  Rajah  of  Singput.'  We're  making  the  jump 
from  Boston  to  Jersey  City.  Now,"  with  an  en- 
gaging smile,  "  you  know  all  about  me.  Tell  me 
who  you  are." 

Ruth  told  her. 

"  That's  better,"  said  Lory,  settling  back  com- 
fortably in  her  seat.  "  Now  we're  acquainted. 
You're  from  the  country,  aren't  you  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  answered  Ruth,  "  but  I'm  going  to  live 
in  New  York,"  she  added,  with  the  instinctive  sensi- 


48    THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE 

tiveness  which  dwellers  in  Arcadia  have  about  their 
home. 

Lory  turned  aside  a  moment  to  annihilate  one 
of  the  men  of  the  company,  who,  seeing  her  talk- 
ing to  a  presentable  young  woman,  had  strolled  up 
for  an  introduction. 

"  Run  away  and  sell  your  papers,  little  boy," 
she  drawled.  "  No  one  asked  you  to  butt  into  this 
game." 

The  man — he  was  a  good-looking  young  fellow — 
laughed,  and  bestowed  a  humorous  glance  upon 
Ruth.  He  turned,  and  went  back  to  his  compan- 
ions in  the  face  of  a  storm  of  good-natured  chaff. 

Lory  turned  back  to  Ruth.  "  Going  to  New  York 
to  stay  with  folks,  or " 

"  No,"  answered  Ruth  proudly,  "  I'm  going  there 
to  earn  my  living.  You  see,  back  in  Harbury  where 
I  live,  there  is  absolutely  nothing  for  a  woman  who 
wants  to  work,  to  do.  So  I  am  going  to  try  New 
York." 

"  What's  your  graft — I  mean,  what  kind  of  work 
are  you  going  to  do  ?  " 

"  Oh ! — anything  I  can  get." 

An  expression  in  which  pity  was  blended  with 
amusement  flitted  across  Lory's  face. 

"  Know  bookkeeping,  stenography,  typewriting 
— anything  like  that?" 

"  No-o,"  confessed  Ruth,  "  I  don't  know  any  par- 


THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE    49 

ticular  thing,  but,"  she  added  hopefully,  "  I  have 
had  a  good  education  and  I  think  I  can  learn 
quickly." 

Lory's  face  became  serious.  "  Look  here,"  she 
said  gravely,  "  I  don't  want  to  discourage  you,  and 
I  don't  want  to  butt  into  your  affairs,  but  for  Heav- 
en's sake,  kid," — Ruth  afterwards  learned  that 
"  kid  "  was  a  term  of  endearment, — "  if  you  don't 
absolutely  have  to  go  to  New  York,  don't  do  it. 
Go  back  where  you  came  from." 

"  But  I  do  have  to,"  answered  Ruth,  and  then, 
drawn  out  by  Lory's  abrupt,  rather  than  adroit, 
questions,  she  told  her  all. 

When  she  had  finished,  Lory's  face  was  deeply 
sympathetic.  "  You  are  certainly  up  against  tough 
luck,"  she  observed. 

"  Why  did  you  advise  me  not  to  go  to  New 
York  ?  "  questioned  Ruth. 

"  Oh,  it's  all  right  to  go  if  you  have  to,  only  of 
course  it  is  rather  a  hard  game  for  a  stranger! 
Still,  you  may  bump  up  against  a  good  job  first 
thing — you  can't  tell.  Where  are  you  going  to 
stay?" 

"  I  don't  know — in  a  boarding-house,  I  suppose. 
Do  you  know  of  any  place  ?  " 

"  You  don't  want  to  board,"  answered  Lory  de- 
cidedly. "  The  boarding-houses  you  could  afford 
are  on  the  bum,  and  you'd  meet  a  lot  of  cheap 


50    THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE 

skates  there  who  would  make  you  sick  of  life. 
There'd  be  an  old  maid  without  any  teeth,  and  a 
Willie  from  behind  the  ribbon  counter,  who  flashes 
a  red  tie,  and  plasters  his  hair  down  till  it  shines, 
and  a  bunch  of  *  has-beens  '  who  tell  you  all  about 
the  money  they  used  to  have.  Then  there'd  be 
the  fat  lady  who  dopes  out  the  society  reports,  and 
every  morning  at  the  breakfast  table  hands  you  out 
the  latest  doings  of  the  swells.  It's  fierce.  You 
don't  want  to  go  to  one  of  those  joints." 

Ruth  laughed  at  the  other's  description.  "  What 
shall  I  do  then?" 

"  Why,  get  a  furnished  room  for  light  house- 
keeping." 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  light  housekeeping?  " 

"  Light-housekeeping  rooms  are  the  ones  where 
they  let  you  cook  your  grub.  Some  of  them  have 
a  little  gas  stove  in  them,  others  an  oil  stove. 
They're  pretty  rotten,  to  tell  the  truth,  but  they're 
better  than  a  boarding-house." 

"  How  do  you  know  where  to  find  them?  " 

"  Look  in  the  paper.  There's  always  a  bunch  of 
them  advertised.  You  want  to  strike  out  for  some- 
thing on  the  East  Side — West  Side's  too  expensive. 
Somewhere  along  in  the  eighties  ought  to  be  all 
right." 

Ruth  thanked  her,  and  wrote  down  the  desirable 
location  in  a  little  notebook. 


THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE    51 

"  By  the  way,"  remarked  Lory,  "  if  you're  go- 
ing to  beat  up  a  job,  you  want  to  get  that  wedding 
ring  out  of  sight,  and  forget  you're  a  Mrs.  Em- 
ployers don't  hire  married  women,  if  they  know 
it." 

"  I  thought  lots  of  married  women  worked,"  said 
Ruth,  surprised. 

"  So  they  do,  but  in  most  cases  they  go  under 
the  name  of  Miss.  You  see,  employers  are  wise 
that  married  women  are  more  independent  than 
single  ones,  and,  if  they're  not  treated  right,  they'll 
do  a  quick  hike.  Hope  you're  not  superstitious — 
about  the  ring,  I  mean." 

Ruth  disclaimed  superstition,  but  the  thought  of 
taking  off  the  ring  caused  her  a  pang.  It  would 
seem  like  the  breaking  of  one  more  bond  connecting 
her  with  John. 

"  Do  you  think  I  will  have  much  trouble  in  find- 
ing something  to  do  ?  "  Ruth  asked  her  companion. 

"  Can't  tell  anything  about  it.  Sometimes  you 
don't  have  any  trouble  at  all,  but  you  don't  want 
to  get  discouraged  if  you  don't  get  anything  the 
first  week.  And,  remember  this,  when  the  em- 
ployer asks  you  if  you  have  had  experience,  tell 
him  yes.  No  matter  what  the  job  is,  tell  him  you 
know  how  to  do  it,  and  that  you  have  been  in  that 
line  for  five  years.  If  he  asks  you  if  you  can  build 
an  automobile,  tell  him  it's  the  easiest  thing  you 


52     THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE 

know;  your  mother  taught  you  when  you  were  a 
kid." 

"  But  that  would  not  be  honest,"  protested  Ruth. 

"  Honest !  "  exclaimed  Lory  in  disgust.  "  Who 
cares?    What  you're  after  is  a  job." 

Ruth  said  nothing  more  about  it,  but  she  deter- 
mined that  this  much  of  Lory's  advice  she  would 
not  take.  She  could  never  hope  to  succeed,  she 
thought,  if  she  started  by  telling  an  untruth. 

"  Why  don't  you  try  for  the  stage  ?  "  demanded 
Lory  abruptly.  "  You  are  pretty,  and  you  have  a 
good  shape." 

Ruth  blushed,  and  shrank  back  a  little.  "  Oh,  I 
couldn't  do  that !  "  In  Harbury  the  theatrical  pro- 
fession was  not  looked  upon  as  desirable  or  even 
respectable.  Then  Ruth  remembered  that  her  com- 
panion was  an  actress. 

"  Oh,  excuse  me ! "  she  cried.  "  I  didn't 
mean " 

"  That's  all  right,  kid ;  I'm  not  stuck  on  it  my- 
self," she  laughed  easily. 

By  the  time  the  train  reached  New  York,  a  sin- 
cere friendship  had  sprung  up  between  the  two  girls, 
as  is  so  often  the  case  where  two  people  of  oppo- 
site types  meet.  Lory  had  given  Ruth  a  great  many 
points  in  regard  to  her  coming  life  in  the  city. 
She  impressed  upon  her  that  she  must  not  take  any 
commission  positions,  where  she  was  called  upon 


THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE    53 

to  buy  anything,  nor  should  she  pay  any  attention  to 
the  advertisements  of  "  work  for  ladies  to  do  at 
home." 

"  They're  nothing  but  fakes,"  she  explained. 
"  You  go  there,  and  meet  a  smooth,  oily  guy,  who 
tells  you  how  you  can  make  all  kinds  of  money,  if 
you'll  only  buy  an  outfit  to  do  the  work  with.  If 
you're  an  easy  mark,  you  pony  up  a  few  bucks,  and 
go  home  and  work  your  head  off  making  some- 
thing that  you  couldn't  even  give  away  to  save  your 
soul.  And  another  thing — don't  let  any  fresh  guys 
speak  to  you,  and  don't  accept  any  invitations  out 
to  dinner  or  lunch.  You'll  probably  run  up  against 
some  employers  who  will  ask  you  to  go  with  them, 
so  they  can  talk  things  over.  Don't  do  it,  not  even 
if  he  looks  like  a  saint  on  a  church  window." 

Ruth  promised  to  remember  this  advice. 

"  Now,  kid,"  Lory  said  affectionately  at  parting, 
"  write  me  as  soon  as  you're  settled,  and  as  soon  as 
the  show  breaks  up,  which  will  be  in  a  month  or 
so,  I'll  look  you  up.  If  anything  should  happen 
in  the  meantime  that  you  should  go  broke,  let  me 
know,  and  maybe  I  can  raise  a  few  bucks  some- 
where for  you.  That's  the  way  I  do  when  I'm 
broke ;  I  write  to  everybody  I  know,  and  bone  them 
for  money.  I  generally  get  enough  answers  to  keep 
me  going  for  a  little  while." 

"  You  are  very  kind,"  said  Ruth.    "  I  can't  tell 


54    THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE 

you  how  much  I  appreciate  it — all  your  kindness  to 

me.    I " 

"  Rats ! "  exclaimed  Lory,  turning  away,  plainly 
embarrassed.  *'  Well,  so  long,  kid,"  she  flung  over 
her  shoulder  cheerfully.  "  Be  good,  and  don't  take 
any  wooden  money." 


CHAPTER  VII 

Ruth  had  no  trouble  in  finding  the  hotel  at  which 
Lory  had  advised  her  to  stay  for  the  night;  it  was 
near  the  station,  and  Lory  had  pointed  it  out  be- 
fore leaving  her.  She  secured  a  room,  and  went 
to  bed  happy. 

So  far,  the  world  seemed  a  very  pleasant  place; 
she  had  met  with  nothing  but  kindness.  Even  the 
hotel  clerk  had  been  overanxious,  it  seemed,  to 
please  her  in  regard  to  a  room.  He  had  kept  her 
so  long  in  describing  the  comparative  advantages 
of  different  rooms  that  Ruth  at  last  had  to  tell  him 
that  she  was  very  tired,  and  wished  to  become  set- 
tled as  quickly  as  possible.  Ruth  was  too  unsophis- 
ticated to  dream  that  his  courtesy  arose  from  the  fact 
that  she  was  pretty.  Before  the  accident  to  John,  she 
had  taken  pleasure  in  her  good  looks,  and,  woman- 
like, had  done  all  she  could — in  the  way  of  dress — 
to  enhance  her  beauty.  But,  since  the  great  trouble 
had  come  into  her  life,  her  personal  appearance 
was  a  matter  of  indifference  to  her.  She  still 
dressed  becomingly,  but  it  was  purely  from  force 
of  habit,  and  not  from  any  thought  she  gave  as 
to  how  she  looked. 

55 


56    THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE 

She  was  physically  tired  from  the  unaccustomed 
traveling,  but  her  conversation  with  Lory  had  re- 
freshed her  mentally,  so  she  quickly  went  to  sleep 
almost  as  soon  as  her  head  rested  on  the  somewhat 
hard  pillow. 

When  she  awoke  next  morning,  the  city  was  well 
on  its  way  into  its  day's  activity.  The  thousand 
noises  of  its  varied  energy  were  blended  into  one 
mighty  hum,  which  was  borne  through  the  open 
window  to  Ruth's  ear  with  a  pleasant  significance. 
She  listened  drowsily  for  a  while  to  the  clanging  of 
the  cars,  the  honking  of  automobile  horns,  the  roar 
of  the  distant  elevated.  The  quick  rap-tap  of 
horses'  hoofs  on  the  asphalt  furnished  a  high 
staccato  to  the  rumbling  bass  of  the  trucks. 
This  was  the  life  in  which  she  would  soon  take 
her  place.  This  was  New  York,  the  city  of  her 
dreams,  and  opportunity  was  even  now  knocking 
at  her  door. 

She  reproached  herself  a  little  that  she  was  not 
homesick,  but  Harbury  and  John  and  his  mother 
seemed  very  far  away,  very  indistinct  and  dream- 
like. It  seemed  years  since  the  train  had  drawn 
away  from  the  little  station,  and  she  had  watched 
the  tiny  building  grow  tinier  in  the  distance,  until 
it  finally  faded  from  sight.  The  past  seemed  vague. 
Only  the  present  was  real,  the  present — and  the 
future. 


THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE    57 

She  rose  and  dressed  leisurely,  talking  to  her- 
self the  while. 

"  The  first  thing  to  do  is  to  find  a  room.  Right 
after  breakfast,  I  will  begin  to  look  for  one.  H 
possible,  I  must  get  all  settled  to-day,  so  that,  bright 
and  early  to-morrow  morning,  I  can  start  out  to 
look  for  a  position." 

A  slight  depression  threatened  her  as  she  thought 
of  the  ordeal  of  looking  for  a  position ;  New  York 
seemed  so  big;  she  would  hardly  know  where  to 
begin.  She  reassured  herself,  however,  by  remem- 
bering that  the  advertisements  in  the  papers  would 
tell  her  just  what  employers  might  be  in  need  of  her 
services. 

"  I  know  I  will  succeed,"  she  told  herself  hope- 
fully. "  John  always  said  I  was  very  smart  about 
business.  I  am  young  and  strong,  and  I  have  had 
a  good  education.  There  must  be  lots  of  girls  who 
have  positions  who  have  not  had  any  of  my  advan- 
tages.   I  know  I  shall  succeed." 

With  which  comforting  reflection  she  finished 
dressing,  and  went  downstairs.  She  bought  a  pa- 
per at  the  news  stand,  and,  passing  out  of  the  hotel, 
turned  west  along  Forty-second  Street,  toward  a 
restaurant  which  Lory  had  recommended  as  being 
cheap  in  price,  and  excellent  as  to  the  quality  of 
the  food  served.  She  wondered  vaguely  why  all 
the  people  were  hurrying  so.     For  an  instant  it 


58    THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE 

occurred  to  her  that  there  must  be  a  fire  or  an 
accident  down  the  street,  but  this  did  not  seem 
plausible,  as  there  were  just  as  many  people  hurry- 
ing in  the  opposite  direction.  As  she  passed  the 
station  where  she  had  arrived  the  night  before,  an 
incoming  train  had  discharged  its  load  of  com- 
muters, and  they  came  rushing  out  through  the 
doors  as  if  in  frenzied  flight.  Ruth  was  caught  in 
the  vortex,  and  for  a  moment  she  was  almost  car- 
ried off  her  feet;  she  could  make  no  headway  in 
any  direction.  But,  at  last,  she  was  caught  in  a 
swirl  of  the  current  that  carried  her  out  of  the 
whirlpool,  and,  somewhat  flushed  and  breathless, 
she  continued  on  her  way. 

She  reached  the  restaurant,  and  for  a  moment 
hesitated  about  entering.  Glancing  through  the 
huge,  plate-glass  windows,  she  saw  an  immense 
room  stretching  away  as  far  as  the  eye  could  see; 
she  found  afterwards  that  this  illusion  of  length 
was  caused  by  the  simple  device  of  having  the  en- 
tire rear  wall  composed  of  mirrors.  The  walls 
and  floor  were  of  white  tile,  and  tables  seemingly 
of  mahogany.  White-aproned  waitresses  hurried 
to  and  fro  with  incredible  deftness.  Ruth  feared 
she  had  made  a  mistake,  and  that  this  was  one  of 
the  places  catering  only  to  the  very  rich.  But  a 
second  reading  of  the  name  displayed  on  the  win- 


THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE    59 

dow  assured  her  that  it  was  the  restaurant  Lory 
had  mentioned,  and  she  went  in. 

While  she  was  waiting  for  her  order,  she  opened 
the  paper  to  see  if  there  were  any  rooms  adver- 
tised within  the  limits  of  the  territory  prescribed 
by  Lory.  There  were — any  number  of  them.  She 
felt  that  she  would  have  no  trouble  in  securing  a 
room.  When  the  waitress  brought  the  eggs  and 
toast  which  Ruth  had  ordered,  Ruth  smiled  and 
thanked  her. 

The  woman  looked  surprised.  "  I  guess  you  ain't 
a  New  Yorker,"  she  observed. 

"  Why  do  you  say  that  ?  "  asked  Ruth,  surprised 
in  her  turn. 

"  New  Yorkers  ain't  got  time  to  be  polite,"  the 
waitress  flung  back  over  her  shoulder,  as  she  hur- 
ried off  after  another  order. 

Ruth  looked  around  the  restaurant,  and  came  to 
the  conclusion  that,  at  least,  they  seemed  to  have 
no  time  to  waste  in  eating.  Everyone  was  rushing 
through  the  meal  at  top  speed.  She  wondered  if 
she  would  ever  become  imbued  with  the  spirit  of 
haste,  as  these  people  were. 

The  room  which  Ruth  had  decided  to  look  at  first 
was  on  Eightieth  Street.  Lory  had  told  her  that 
to  reach  this  section  she  should  take  an  uptown 
Madison  Avenue  car.  But,  when  Ruth  came  to 
follow  these  directions,  she  was  confronted  by  a 


6o    THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE 

problem  which  had  not  occurred  to  her  before, — 
she  did  not  know  in  what  direction  uptown  lay. 
She  debated  the  question  in  her  mind  for  some 
moments,  but  could  not  solve  it,  so  she  approached 
a  policeman  and  asked  him. 

"  Will  you  please  tell  me  how  I  can  reach  Eighti- 
eth Street?" 

"  Take  the  up  car,"  he  answered  shortly,  with- 
out looking  at  her. 

"  Which  way  is  up?  " 

He  glanced  around  at  her  angrily.  A  thirst  for 
knowledge  may  be  admired  by  some  people,  but 
they  are  not  members  of  the  New  York  j>olice  force. 
A  block  in  the  traffic  claimed  his  attention  at  that 
moment,  and  he  strode  off  without  answering  her. 

She  turned  away,  not  daring  to  follow  and  risk 
his  displeasure  by  a  repetition  of  her  question. 
Suddenly  she  felt  very  helpless,  very  much  alone. 
She  seemed  the  veriest  atom  in  all  this  mass  of 
humanity.  She  looked  around  at  the  hurrying 
crowds,  and  wondered  how  she  was  to  gain  the  nec- 
essary information.    She  felt  a  touch  on  her  arm. 

"  Ain't  lost,  are  you?  "  said  a  man's  voice. 

She  turned  around,  and  recognized  the  speaker 
as  a  man  whom  she  had  noticed  lounging  in  the 
doorway  of  a  cigar  store.    She  shrank  back. 

"  Oh,  you  needn't  be  afraid  of  me ! "  the  man 
went  on,  noticing  her  expression.    "  I  ain't  one  of 


THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE    6i 

these  here  mashers.  I  saw  you  ask  the  cop  some- 
thing, and  he  didn't  seem  overanxious  to  tell  you. 
Them  cops  is  the  limit.  H  you  want  to  know  how 
to  get  anywheres,  I  can  tell  you." 

Ruth  took  a  second  look  at  the  man.  Although 
he  was  dressed  in  a  flashy  manner,  there  was  some- 
thing in  his  face  that  reassured  her. 

"  I  want  to  go  to  East  Eightieth  Street,"  she  said 
frankly. 

"  Why,  any  of  these  cars  will  take  you  there. 
Here's  one  now." 

He  helped  Ruth  on  the  car,  and,  raising  his  hat, 
sauntered  back  to  the  curb,  probably  entirely  igno- 
rant of  how — out  of  all  proportion — his  kindness 
had  rallied  a  faltering  courage. 

Ruth  entered  the  car  with  a  lighter  heart,  and, 
finding  a  vacant  seat  near  the  door,  interested  her- 
self in  studying  the  other  passengers.  She  was 
surprised  that  not  one  seemed  to  be  an  American. 
It  seemed  as  if  all  the  other  nationalities  of  earth 
were  represented — even  to  China — but  America 
seemed  to  lack  representation.  It  was  her  first 
glimpse  of  the  cosmopolitan  aspect  of  the  New 
York  population. 

She  had  no  trouble  in  finding  the  street,  as  the 
number  was  plainly  displayed  on  the  gas-lamp  at 
the  comer.  She  alighted  from  the  car,  and  turned 
eastward.    The  house  she  was  seeking  was  in  the 


62    THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE 

middle  of  the  block.  The  first  floor  was  occupied  by 
a  tobacco  store,  and  there  were  a  number  of  dirty, 
half-clad  children  playing  about  the  door.  She  hesi- 
tated a  moment,  and  then  ascended  the  steps  and 
rang  the  bell.  Her  ring  was  answered,  after  con- 
siderable delay,  by  a  woman  clad  untidily  in  a 
soiled  wrapper.  She  eyed  Ruth  suspiciously  until 
the  girl  made  known  her  errand,  and  then,  without 
a  word,  motioned  her  to  follow.  Ruth  was  con- 
ducted through  a  hall  almost  as  dark  as  midnight, 
and  up  a  staircase  which,  although  Ruth  could  not 
see  it  on  account  of  the  gloom,  she  felt  sure  was 
very  dirty. 

The  woman  stopped  in  front  of  a  door  and, 
unlocking  it,  threw  it  open.  The  room  was  inde- 
scribably cheerless,  and  the  atmosphere  was  laden 
with  a  disagreeable,  musty  smell.  The  furniture 
consisted  of  a  bed,  two  chairs  with  broken  cane 
bottoms,  a  bureau  whose  glass  was  cracked,  and 
a  washstand  on  which  were  a  pitcher  and  bowl, 
both  also  cracked.  At  one  end  of  the  room  was  a 
table,  on  which  was  a  tiny  oil-stove. 

"  I'm  afraid  this  will  not  do,"  said  Ruth  timidly. 
"  It  is  not  just  what  I  want." 

The  woman  nodded  unconcernedly,  and  stood 
aside  for  Ruth  to  pass  out.  Then  she  locked  the 
door,  and  disappeared  down  the  hall,  leaving  Ruth 
to  find  her  way  out  as  best  she  could.     In  all  the 


THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE    63 

while  she  had  been  with  her,  the  woman  had  not 
spoken  a  word.  Ruth  wondered  that  she  was  not 
more  anxious  to  rent  the  room.  She  did  not  know 
that,  for  even  the  dingiest  room  in  that  locality, 
the  demand  far  exceeds  the  supply,  and  the  owner 
can,  therefore,  afford  to  be  independent. 

Ruth  was  glad  to  reach  the  street.  She  turned 
hopefully  toward  the  next  place  on  her  list.  This 
was  two  blocks  further  up,  and  it  took  her  only 
a  few  minutes  to  walk  the  distance.  Her  experience 
there  was  just  as  unsatisfactory,  although  the  land- 
lady was  more  voluble,  and  told  Ruth  the  history 
of  all  her  roomers,  and  also  explained  how  it  was 
that  she,  "  a  gentlewoman  by  birth  and  eddication," 
should  be  reduced  to  taking  in  roomers.  The  room 
itself  was  just  as  dirty,  the  furniture  was  just  as 
dingy,  yet  there  was  this  difference:  it  was  whole, 
while  it  was  the  window  that  was  cracked. 

Ruth  began  to  feel  a  little  discouraged,  and,  as 
the  day  wore  on  and  she  met  with  no  better  suc- 
cess, she  began  to  wonder  if  there  was  a  decent 
room  in  the  city  to  be  had  for  the  price  which  she 
could  afford  to  pay.  Toward  evening,  in  a  fit  of 
desperation,  she  decided  that  the  next  place  on  her 
list  should  be  her  home  for  the  time  being,  anyway. 
And  the  gamble  brought  her  a  fair  return,  for  the 
room  was  cleaner  than  the  rest  she  had  looked  at, 
and  the  landlady  was  a  kindly  old  German  woman, 


64    THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE 

who  seemed  to  take  a  notion  to  the  girl,  and  tried 
to  make  her  comfortable,  even  to  the  proffering  of 
a  glass  of  beer,  which  beverage,  she  explained,  was 
excellent  on  a  hot  day.  Ruth  declined  this  hospi- 
tality, although  she  thanked  the  woman  heartily  for 
the  offer. 

When  Ruth  had  succeeded,  after  some  difficulty, 
in  having  her  trunk  brought  up  from  the  station, 
she  started  in  housecleaning,  and  with  the  aid  of  a 
few  pictures  and  knick-knacks,  which  she  had 
brought  from  Harbury,  managed  to  give  the  room 
a  very  homelike  appearance. 

The  landlady — her  name  was  Mrs.  Vogel — ^hov- 
ered around  watching  Ruth's  energy  with  apprecia- 
tion, and  helping  every  now  and  then  in  a  vague, 
haphazard  manner. 

"  You  work  very  hard  for  one  who  so  little  is," 
she  commended. 

Ruth  laughed.    **  I'm  used  to  it,"  she  replied. 

"  You  are  from  the  country,  yes?  " 

Ruth  nodded.  She  placed  a  photograph  of  John 
on  the  bureau,  and  moved  it  from  side  to  side,  to 
ascertain  where  it  would  look  the  best. 

"  That  is  your  sweetheart  ?  " 

"  My  husband." 

The  woman  came  over  and  examined  the  photo- 
graph critically.  "  He  is  a  goot  man.  The  face, 
it  is  goot.    I  know.    He  is  a  goot  man." 


THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE    65 

"  Yes,"  Ruth  answered.  "  He  is  a  very  good 
man." 

"  Why  do  you  come  to  New  York  alone  ?  "  was 
the  woman's  next  question. 

Ruth  could  not  resent  this  catechising;  it  was  so 
evidently  well  meant. 

"  My  husband  is  sick,"  she  answered.  "  I  have 
come  to  the  city  to  look  for  work." 

The  woman's  face  showed  sympathy.  "  That  is 
too  bad.  It  is  hard  looking  for  work.  And  you 
are  so  little." 

Before  Ruth  went  to  bed,  she  sat  down  and  wrote 
a  letter  to  John's  mother,  and  also  one  to  Lory. 
Both  letters  were  cheerful.  Ruth  had  decided  that, 
on  the  whole,  her  first  day  in  New  York  had  been 
a  success. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

Before  breakfast  next  morning,  Ruth  went  out  and 
bought  a  paper.  She  spread  it  out  on  the  table 
before  her  and,  with  rapidly  beating  heart,  opened 
it.  Somewhere  in  those  prosaic  pages  might  lie  the 
clew  that  would  lead  her  on  to  success.  She  ran 
her  eye  hastily  through  the  "  help  wanted  "  col- 
umns, and'  her  heart  sank,  for  the  word  "  ex- 
perienced "  prefaced  nearly  every  advertisement. 
Moreover,  there  were  many  which  requested  the 
applicant  to  write,  stating  wages,  and  giving  refer- 
ences. Ruth  did  not  know  what  wages  to  ask  for, 
nor  could  she,  of  course,  give  references. 

At  last,  however,  she  discovered  a  few  among 
the  many  that  did  not  ask  anything  except  that  the 
applicant  call.  One  of  these,  advertising  a  position 
in  a  doctor's  office,  she  decided  to  answer  first.  It 
was  early  yet,  and  she  prepared  and  ate  her  break- 
fast leisurely.  Then  she  set  out  to  walk  to  the 
physician's  office. 

Her  way  took  her  across  Central  Park — she  had 
been  given  directions  by  the  landlady — and  the  sight 
of  its  well-kept  lawns,  the  songs  of  the  birds,  the 
pleasant  green  of  the  foliage  recalled  Harbury  to 

66 


THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE    67 

her  mind.  She  was  seized  with  a  sudden  rush  of 
homesickness;  for  a  moment  it  seemed  as  if  she 
must  fly  back  to  her  home  regardless  of  conse- 
quences. She  fought  off  this  feehng,  however,  and 
tried  to  think  only  of  the  beauty  of  the  morning. 
She  interested  herself  in  watching  the  people,  and 
wondering  what  they  all  did  for  a  living.  A  squir- 
rel ran  down  the  trunk  of  a  tree  beside  the  path, 
and  sat  up  on  its  haunches  inspecting  her  critically. 
"  Oh,  you  beauty !  "  she  cried,  and  tried  to  coax  him 
nearer.  The  squirrel  waited  a  moment  to  see  if 
any  peanuts  were  to  be  forthcoming,  and  then,  de- 
ciding to  the  contrary,  disappeared  with  an  indig- 
nant flirt  of  his  tail.    Ruth  laughed,  and  went  on. 

Coming  out  of  the  park,  she  crossed  Eighth  Ave- 
nue, and  continued  up  that  thoroughfare  for  a  few 
blocks,  then  turned  toward  the  west.  At  last  she 
came  to  the  office.  It  was  a  brownstone  house, 
looking  singularly  unattractive  on  the  outside,  as 
indeed  most  of  the  houses  in  New  York  did,  Ruth 
thought. 

A  woman  in  the  uniform  of  a  trained  nurse 
opened  the  door. 

"  I  came  in  answer  to  your  advertisement,"  said 
Ruth. 

The  woman  looked  at  her  a  moment  doubtfully, 
then  said : 

"If  you  will  step  into  the  reception-room,  and 


68    THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE 

wait  for  a  few  moments  until  I  am  at  liberty,  I 
will  tell  what  it  is  the  doctor  wishes." 

The  room  into  which  Ruth  was  ushered  made  her 
fairly  hold  her  breath.  She  had  thought  the  Brad- 
bury mansion  magnificent — but  this !  She  decided 
the  physician  must  be  very  rich,  and  would  there- 
fore pay  high  wages.  Naturally  every  thought  led 
back  to  the  subject  which  was  engrossing  her  mind. 
After  a  few  moments  the  nurse  came  in. 

"  The  doctor,"  she  said  impressively,  "  wishes  a 
young  woman  to  open  the  door,  and  post  the  books. 
I  will  show  you  about  the  books,  in  case  you  take 
the  position.  In  addition  to  this  work,  the  office 
has  to  be  dusted  every  morning — the  doctor  has  a 
colored  man  who  does  the  sweeping  and  heavy  work 
— and  there  are  sometimes  other  things  to  be  done 
which  are  out  of  the  ordinary  run.  The  doctor 
wishes  a  young  woman  who  is  willing  and  ener- 
getic, and  he  is  also  very  particular  that  she  be 
well,  or  at  least,  neatly  dressed.  I  think,"  she  went 
on,  with  a  friendly  smile,  "  that  you  would  suit  him. 
You  live  at  home,  I  suppose?  " 

"  No,"  answered  Ruth.    "  I  am  alone  in  the  city." 

The  nurse  hesitated.  "  The  doctor  prefers  a 
young  woman  who  lives  at  home  with  her  parents. 
You  see,"  she  explained,  "  the  doctor  has  to  be 
very  particular.  His  practice  is  among  the  wealthi- 
est and  most  refined  people.    If  he  should  engage  a 


THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE    69 

young  woman  who  was  not " — she  hesitated  for  a 
word — "just  right,  it  would  create  a  bad  impres- 
sion. But  I  will  speak  to  him,  and  maybe  he  will 
make  an  exception  in  your  case." 

The  nurse  rose,  and  left  the  room. 

While  the  woman  had  been  speaking,  Ruth 
flushed  painfully.  Yet  she  recognized  that  the  phy- 
sician probably  did  have  to  be  careful  as  to  whom 
he  engaged,  and  she  felt  that,  as  this  was  the  case, 
the  pay — should  she  obtain  the  position — would  be 
correspondingly  high. 

The  nurse  returned  after  a  short  while,  accom- 
panied by  a  man  apparently  of  middle  age.  He 
.was  dressed  in  a  suit  of  some  rough,  mixed  mate- 
rial, and  did  not  look  at  all  like  a  physician,  Ruth 
thought.  He  frowned  absent-mindedly,  and  after 
one  sharp  glance  at  the  girl  nodded  to  the  nurse, 
and,  turning  on  his  heel,  left  the  room. 

The  nurse  came  over  to  Ruth.  "  The  doctor," 
she  announced  grandly,  "  has  decided  to  make  an 
exception  in  your  favor.  When  can  you  begin 
work?" 

"  Right  away,"  answered  Ruth,  hardly  able  to 
control  the  joy  that  was  surging  in  her  heart. 

The  nurse  smiled  her  approval.  "  The  doctor 
will  be  pleased,"  she  commented.  "  He  likes  to  have 
people  about  him  who  are  anxious  to  work.  So 
many  young  women  nowadays  seem  to  think  that  it 


70    THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE 

is  horrible  to  have  to  work.  But  I  can  see  that 
you  are  not  that  kind.  By  the  way,  have  you  a 
black  dress  ?  " 

Ruth  thought  a  moment.  "  I  have  one,  but  it  is 
rather  shabby." 

"  You  will  have  to  get  one,  then.  The  doctor 
always  insists  that  his  office  girl  dress  in  black. 
Of  course,  for  the  first  few  days,  it  will  not  matter, 
but  after  that — you'll  attend  to  it,  won't  you  ?  " 

Ruth  promised,  although  the  buying  of  a  dress 
would  make  quite  a  hole  in  her  available  capital. 
She  decided,  however,  that  the  expenditure  would 
be  justified,  now  that  she  had  obtained  a  good 
position. 

The  nurse  rose.  "  If  you'll  come  with  me,  I  will 
show  you  what  there  is  to  be  done." 

At  ten  o'clock,  the  patients  began  to  pour  in,  and 
they  came  in  droves,  until  all  the  chairs  in  the 
reception-room  were  occupied,  and  some  of  the 
later-comers  had  to  stand.  There  was  always  a 
brougham  or  a  motor-car  either  arriving  or  passing 
on.  Ruth  was  awed  by  the  magnificence  of  the 
gowns  which  the  women  wore — practically  all  of 
the  patients  were  women — and  wondered  how  these 
people  could  afford  to  wear  such  dresses,  just  to 
come  to  the  doctor's,  when  in  Harbury  such  gowns, 
if  they  had  been  owned  at  all,  would  be  carefully 
treasured  up  for  special  occasions. 


THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE    71 

By  noon  Ruth  was  feeling  rather  tired,  and  very 
hungry.  She  wondered  at  what  time  the  nurse 
would  tell  her  to  go  out  to  luncheon,  but  as  the 
minutes  went  by,  and  the  patients  still  kept  coming 
in,  she  began  to  doubt  whether  she  would  be  al- 
lowed to  go  out  to  lunch  at  all. 

But  at  two  o'clock  the  nurse  appeared  at  the  door 
of  the  reception-room,  and  announced  that  the  doc- 
tor would  see  no  more  patients  that  day.  Ruth 
was  astonished,  for  some  of  them  had  been  wait- 
ing for  over  an  hour.  She  was  surprised  also  that 
they  made  no  protest,  but  arose  and  went  out  with- 
out a  word.  The  nurse,  who  was  standing  by,  no- 
ticed her  amazement,  and  laughed. 

"  Oh,  they  like  that !  "  she  said.  "  It  makes  them 
feel  that  the  doctor  is  a  very  great  man — as  indeed 
he  is — to  be  able  to  be  so  independent.  You  see, 
all  these  people  are  very  rich,  and  they  are  so  ac- 
customed to  having  everyone  bow  down  to  them 
that,  when  they  do  find  a  man  like  the  doctor  who 
plays  the  master,  they  conceive  a  great  respect  for 
him.  You  should  hear  how  he  talks  to  them.  Just 
so  long  as  they  do  as  he  tells  them  to,  he  treats  them 
with  the  greatest  kindness,  but  once  let  them  dis- 
obey, or  try  to  tell  him  what  they  think  about  their 
symptoms,  and  he  puts  them  down  in  short  order. 
And  they  like  him  the  better  for  it.  They  are  all 
the  more  sure  to  come  again." 


^2    THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE 

Ruth  nodded.  "  I  can  understand  how  they 
would  feel  that  way." 

The  nurse  was  moved  to  other  disclosures,  while 
Ruth  was  straightening  up  the  reception-room.  "  You 
noticed  that  old  woman  who  came  in  this  morning 
— the  one  in  the  cerise  gown?  Well,  there  is  noth- 
ing whatever  the  matter  with  her,  but  she  comes 
here  nearly  every  day.  If  the  doctor  wants  to  see 
her,  he  does;  if  not,  he  tells  her  to  go  home.  He 
has  prescribed  bread  pills  for  her  with  directions 
that  she  is  to  take  one  three  times  a  day  after 
drinking  a  glass  of  water.  Once  she  took  one,  and 
drank  the  water  afterwards.  She  told  him  she  did 
not  think  it  made  any  difference.  You  should  have 
seen  the  look  on  his  face.  *  Madam,'  he  said,  '  leave 
my  office  and  do  not  come  back  until  you  are  ready 
to  obey  my  orders.'  She  went  away  in  a  huff,  but 
she  came  back  the  next  day,  and  begged  him  to 
take  up  her  case  again.  She  must  pay  him  at  least 
ten  thousand  dollars  a  year." 

"  But,"  protested  Ruth,  "  if  there  is  nothing  the 
matter  with  her " 

The  nurse  shrugged  her  shoulders.  "  That  is  her 
affair.  Besides,  even  if  the  doctor  did  tell  her, 
she  would  refuse  to  believe  him,  and  simply  go 
to  some  other  physician.  Anyhow,  it  pleases  her 
to  come  here;  she  feels  that  it  is  a  mark  of  wealth 
and  social  rank  to  be  seen  in  this  office,  and  in  a 


THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE    73 

way  it  is,  for  the  doctor  always  looks  up  the  stand- 
ing of  a  patient  before  he  will  accept  the  case." 

From  the  nurse's  conversation,  Ruth  could  see 
that,  in  her  universe,  "  The  Doctor  "  was  a  deity  of 
the  first  rank,  but  to  Ruth  there  was  something 
ignoble  in  his  course.  She  had  always  thought  of 
the  medical  profession  as  being  above  this  kind  of 
charlatanry.  Doctor  Northall,  she  felt  sure,  would 
have  scorned  such  methods.  Possibly — although 
Ruth  did  not  think  of  it — that  was  the  reason  why 
he  was  merely  a  poor  country  doctor,  instead  of  a 
fashionable  city  physician.  Ruth  did  not  dream  of 
the  full  extent  to  which  her  present  employer  had 
debased  his  profession  into  solely  a  .means  of 
money-getting.  If  she  had,  she  probably  would 
have  been  very  harsh  in  her  judgment  of  him.  Yet 
this  opinion  would  not  have  been  entirely  deserved. 
There  were  extenuating  circumstances. 

Doctor  J.  Warrington  Strong — his  name  had 
originally  been  written  Joseph  W.  Strong — had 
started  out  in  the  practice  of  medicine  with  ideals. 
One  of  these  was  that  he  intended  to  be  honest  with 
his  patients,  not  honest  in  the  accepted  meaning  of 
the  word,  but  absolutely,  strictly  honest.  So  when, 
shortly  after  he  had  hung  out  his  shingle,  a  rich 
patient  summoned  him,  he  diagnosed  the  case  as 
a  slight  cold,  and,  instead  of  calling  two  or  three 
times  a  day,  he  left  a  prescription  for  a  simple  rem- 


74    THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE 

edy  and  did  not  call  again.  The  patient  very  natu- 
rally concluded  that  he  was  not  sufficiently  im- 
pressed with  her  importance,  and  called  in  another 
physician,  who,  wiser  in  the  ways  of  the  world  and 
with  a  deeper  insight  into  human  nature,  clapped 
her  into  bed  and  ordered  two  trained  nurses  in 
attendance.  Then,  after  frightening  her  nearly  to 
death,  he  cured  her  in  a  really  miraculous  manner — 
so  she  told  her  friends.  She  paid  the  five-hundred- 
dollar  fee  of  this  worthy  man  with  far  more  will- 
ingness than  she  did  the  modest  bill  for  two  dollars 
which  Joseph  Strong  presented,  and  her  estimate 
of  the  comparative  ability  of  the  two  men  was,  to 
say  the  least,  prejudiced. 

In  his  pursuit  of  honesty,  the  young  physician 
found  that  it  carried  with  it  an  inevitable  accom- 
paniment of  poverty.  This  he  could  have  stood, 
for  he  had  no  particular  love  of  wealth,  but  to 
forego  the  good  opinion  and  admiration  of  his 
fellow-men,  and  particularly  of  his  professional 
brethren,  was  different.  And  he  found  that,  unless 
a  physician  were  well  off  in  the  world's  goods,  he 
was  looked  upon  as  a  failure,  a  man  of  little  abil- 
ity. Even  the  patients  for  whom  he  did  his  best 
would  leave  him  to  go  to  a  man  of  more  repu- 
tation. 

For  awhile  Joseph  Strong  struggled  along  in  bit- 
terness of  spirit,  and,  when  he  did  change  his  course, 


THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE    75 

he  did  so  completely,  for  he  was  not  the  man  to 
do  things  by  halves.  He  made  a  solemn  resolution 
that  he  would  leave  no  stone  unturned  to  reach  the 
heights  of  medical  pre-eminence  in  New  York.  He 
accomplished  his  aim;  the  city  held  on  its  medical 
rolls  no  name  that  was  more  honored,  envied,  and 
applauded  than  that  of  J.  Warrington  Strong. 

After  Ruth  had  returned  from  luncheon,  which 
she  obtained  in  a  little  restaurant  on  Ninth  Avenue, 
she  was  set  to  work  posting  the  books.  This  proved 
to  be  a  much  more  complicated  process  than  the 
nurse  had  led  her  to  believe.  Under  each  patient's 
name  was  a  list  of  questions,  the  answers  of  which 
had  to  be  filled  in.  The  doctor  dictated  these  an- 
swers, and  he  was  very  impatient  when  Ruth  could 
not  spell  the  complicated  words  he  used.  She  no- 
ticed that  in  many  cases  he  gave  the  same  Latin 
name  in  answer  to  the  question  as  to  what  disease 
the  patient  had.  Ruth  later  asked  the  nurse  what 
was  the  disease  that  seemed  to  be  so  common. 

"  Oh,  that  is  just  a  little  joke  of  the  doctor's," 
the  nurse  replied,  smiling.  "  It  is  the  Latin  word 
for  nothing.  You  see,  most  of  them  think  they 
are  sick,  when  in  reality  there  is  nothing  whatever 
the  matter  with  them." 

After  the  books  were  posted,  Ruth  was  asked  to 
sweep  the  office,  as  the  colored  man,  whose  duty 
it  was  to  perform  this  task,  did  not  appear.     Al- 


76    THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE 

though  she  was  very  tired,  Ruth  consented  will- 
ingly, and  it  was  after  seven  o'clock  when  she  hur- 
ried home,  worn  out  in  body,  but  very  happy.  She 
had  gained  a  position  on  her  second  day  in  New 
York.    She  could  hardly  believe  her  good  luck. 

She  was  so  exultant  that  she  felt  as  if  she  must 
tell  some  one  of  her  good  fortune,  so  she  hunted 
up  the  landlady,  and  poured  forth  the  tale  of  her 
triumph,  what  a  splendid  position  she  had  found, 
how  rich  the  doctor  was,  what  a  large  practice  he 
had,  how  beautiful  his  office  was,  and  how  kind 
the  nurse  had  been  to  her. 

Mrs.  Vogel  listened  with  a  broad  smile  of  pleas- 
ure on  her  kindly  face. 

"  That  is  goot,"  she  said,  when  Ruth  had  finished. 
"  How  much  do  you  get?  " 

"  I  don't  know,"  answered  Ruth,  "  but  I  know  it 
will  be  a  good  deal,  because  he  is  very  particular. 
The  nurse  asked  me  any  number  of  questions  before 
I  could  get  the  position." 

The  woman's  face  became  sober.  "You  make 
him  tell  you  what  he  gives  you  already,"  she  advised. 

Ruth  laughed  at  her  suspicions,  and  sat  down  to 
write  the  good  news  to  Harbury. 

Once  more  she  went  to  bed  happy;  her  second 
day  in  New  York  had  been  a  huge  success. 


CHAPTER  IX 

It  was  eight  o'clock  the  next  morning  when  Ruth 
reached  the  office.  She  did  not  see  either  the  doc- 
tor or  the  nurse,  but  there  was  an  old  colored  man 
pottering  about,  who  showed  her  what  she  was  ex- 
pected to  do.  Ruth  plunged  eagerly  into  her  work, 
and,  although  she  found  that  her  duties  consisted 
in  doing  much  more  than  the  dusting  of  which  the 
nurse  had  spoken,  she  did  not  mind.  She  already 
took  an  interest  in  her  position,  and  she  endeavored 
to  make  the  office  look  spotlessly  clean  and  neat.  She 
felt  that  she  was  a  part  of  the  establishment,  and 
looked  forward  with  interest  to  the  time  when  the 
patients  would  begin  to  arrive.  Although  the  fact 
of  the  doctor's  dishonesty — she  could  call  it  by  no 
less  a  term — weighed  upon  her  mind,  she  had  de- 
cided that  it  was  not  for  her  to  judge,  knowing 
nothing  of  the  demands  of  a  city  practice,  and, 
anyway,  if  these  people  thought  they  were  sick,  and 
derived  comfort  from  the  doctor's  ministration,  he 
was  at  least  doing  something  for  their  well-being. 

At  nine  o'clock  the  nurse  came  in,  and  smiled  her 
approval  on  finding  how  Ruth  had  progressed  with 
the  work. 

77 


78    THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE 

"  The  doctor  will  be  pleased,"  she  said.  "  He 
likes  to  see  one  take  an  interest  in  one's  work." 

Ruth  remembered  that  she  had  intended  asking 
about  the  wages,  but  she  hesitated.  It  seemed  in  a 
way  ungrateful,  especially  when  the  doctor  had 
made  an  exception  in  her  case;  it  seemed  to  denote 
a  lack  of  appreciation.  Still,  she  decided,  she  had 
better  ask. 

"  How  much  does  the  doctor  pay  for  the  work 
I  am  doing  ?  " 

The  nurse  was  arranging  her  hair.  "  Five  dol- 
lars a  week,"  she  answered  without  turning  around. 

Ruth  sat  down  abruptly  in  a  chair. 

"  Five  dollars !  "  she  exclaimed. 

The  nurse  looked  around.  "  Why,  yes,"  she  said 
in  surprise.  "  I  thought  you  knew — that  is  the 
usual  pay  for  work  such  as  you  are  doing." 

"  But,"  stammered  Ruth,  "  that  is  hardly  any- 
thing; I  couldn't  live  on  that." 

The  nurse  shrugged  her  shoulders.  "  That  is 
hardly  the  doctor's  affair,"  she  returned  calmly. 
"  He  can  get  any  number  of  girls  who  are  willing 
to  work  for  that  amount,  and  glad  of  the  chance." 

Ruth's  anger  rose.  "  It  is  an  outrage,"  she  said, 
holding  herself  in  check,  and  speaking  quietly,  al- 
though her  voice  vibrated  with  indignation.  "  He 
knows  that  I  am  living  alone  in  the  city — I  told 
you  that.    He  knows  that  it  is  impossible  for  any- 


THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE    79 

one  to  live  on  five  dollars  a  week.  I  should  think 
he  would  be  ashamed  to  offer  anybody  such  a  mis- 
erable amount,  but  when  he  knows  that  I  have  to 
be  self-supporting " 

The  nurse's  face  froze.  "  I  think  you  had  better 
go,  Miss  Lawson,"  she  said  icily.  "  I  am  sorry 
there  has  been  a  misunderstanding,  but,  if  you  did 
not  know  enough  to  ask  the  amount  of  your  wages, 
you  can  hardly  blame  the  doctor  for  the  mistake, 
nor  can  you  expect  him  to  investigate  the  means  of 
every  applicant  for  a  position.  For  all  he  knew, 
you  might  have  an  income  from  some  other  source." 

Ruth's  anger  died  down.  "  I  suppose  it  was  my 
fault,"  she  admitted.  "  Yet  I  never  dreamed  that 
a  physician  with  a  practice  such  as  his,  and  with 
such  an  office,  would  pay  so  little." 

The  nurse's  face  softened.  "  You  are  evidently 
strange  to  the  city,  or  you  would  not  be  surprised," 
she  remarked. 

Ruth  put  on  her  hat.  Then  she  thought  of  some- 
thing. She  turned  to  the  nurse,  but  at  that  moment 
the  doctor  entered  the  room. 

"  I  am  leaving,"  she  said,  in  answer  to  his  ques- 
tioning glance,  "  I  did  not  understand  about  the 
amount  of  wages  I  was  to  receive.  I  am  sorry  if 
I  have  put  you  to  any  trouble." 

"  What  is  the  matter  with  the  wages  ?  "  he  asked 
brusquely. 


8o    THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE 

"  It  is  not  enough  for  me  to  live  on,"  Ruth  an- 
swered simply.  "  I  am  alone  in  the  city,  and  I 
must  support  myself." 

He  grunted,  and  turned  to  his  desk. 

Ruth  waited  a  moment,  then  said  timidly :  *'  If 
you  will  pay  me  for  the  work  I  did  yesterday,  I 
will  go.  I  must  hurry  and  look  up  something 
else." 

He  frowned.  "  It  is  customary  to  pay  by  the  week, 
not  by  the  day,"  he  answered  shortly. 

"  But  I  have  been  here  only  the  one  day,"  said 
Ruth,  not  understanding  him. 

"Oh,  well!  I  don't  have  to  pay  you  anything, 
as  a  matter  of  fact.  You  engaged  to  work  by 
the  week,  and  you  have  broken  your  contract,  but 
I'll  pay  you.  Here,  nurse,  figure  out  how  much 
I  owe  this  young  woman.  She  wasn't  here  a  whole 
day  yesterday,  didn't  get  here  till  after  nine."  The 
nurse  blushed  at  the  exposed  penuriousness  of  her 
idol,  but  took  up  a  pad  and  began  to  figure. 

Ruth's  eyes  flashed.  "  Pardon  me,"  she  said  de- 
cidedly, "  I  have  been  here  an  hour  this  morning. 
I  think  that  makes  up  the  full  day." 

The  doctor  looked  up,  frowning.  "  You  will 
take  just  what  I  choose  to  give  you,  or  nothing 
at  all,"  he  said  coolly. 

Ruth  saw  that  she  was  beaten.  She  took  the 
money,  and  walked  out,  carrying  herself  proudly 


THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE    8i 

erect.  So  this  was  the  man  who  was  so  particular 
whom  he  engaged  to  work  for  him,  whom  it  was 
so  hard  to  please,  who  "  liked  to  see  one  take  an 
interest  in  one's  work  " — this  man  who  was  paid 
ten  thousand  dollars  a  year  by  one  patient,  and  paid 
those  who  labored  for  him  so  poorly.  What  a  fool 
she  had  been  to  be  taken  in  by  the  nurse's  twaddle 
about  the  "  great  man."  Ruth  wondered  if  there 
could  be  others  like  him.  The  old  German  woman 
had  been  suspicious  that  he  might  be  like  that. 
Ruth  was,  therefore,  forced  to  the  conclusion  that 
there  were. 

When  she  reached  the  sidewalk,  the  full  force 
of  the  unfortunate  outcome  was  borne  in  upon  her. 
The  problem  which  she  had  thought  solved,  now 
confronted  her  in  a  more  complicated  form;  before, 
the  solution  had  meant  simply  the  gaining  of  a  po- 
sition; now,  she  saw  that  some  positions  paid  so 
poorly  that  they  were  useless.  She  tried  not  to  be 
discouraged.  She  told  herself  that  one  failure  did 
not  mean  continued  failure ;  that,  if  she  were  to  be 
discouraged  so  easily,  she  could  never  hope  to  suc- 
ceed. Yet  it  was  a  severe  blow,  and  her  air  castles 
were  tottering  on  their  foundations.  She  thought 
of  the  enthusiastic  letter  she  had  written  home,  and 
would  have  given  anything  to  be  able  to  recall  it. 

She  hurried  home,  and  looked  through  the  paper 
to  discover  the  point  of  her  next  attack.     She  de- 


82    THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE 

cided  to  try  for  a  store  position ;  there  were  a  num- 
ber of  saleswomen  wanted  at  Ehrenstein  &  Co.'s. 

She  could  not  bear  to  tell  the  landlady  of  her 
failure,  so  she  did  not  ask  her  how  to  get  to  Ehren- 
stein's.  She  had  some  trouble  in  finding  it,  but  at 
last,  by  asking  many  times,  she  was  directed  to  the 
store  on  Sixth  Avenue. 

The  elevator  which  carried  her  up  to  the  mana- 
ger's office  bore  five  other  girls  who,  from  their 
conversation,  meant  to  apply  for  a  position.  This 
fact  disconcerted  Ruth.  She  had  thought  of  her- 
self as  being  the  only  applicant;  or,  rather,  had  not 
thought  of  it  at  all,  for  the  novice  in  position 
seeking  rarely  takes  into  consideration  the  compe- 
tition to  be  met.  But,  if  Ruth  was  disconcerted  be- 
cause of  the  five  girls,  she  was  completely  dismayed 
when  she  reached  the  manager's  office.  Outside  the 
door  were  from  seventy-five  to  a  hundred  girls  wait- 
ing to  be  interviewed. 

Many  of  these  were  well  dressed,  and  carried 
themselves  with  jaunty  indifference,  but  some  were 
miserably  clad,  and  their  white,  pinched  faces  struck 
terror  to  Ruth's  heart.  She  stood  there  not  know- 
ing what  to  do,  nor  seeing  the  slightest  use  in  doing 
it  if  she  had  known. 

A  girl  standing  next  to  her  dressed  in  a  suit 
which  had  once  been  black,  but  which  time  had  ren- 
dered a  dingy  green,  touched  her  on  the  arm. 


THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE    83 

"  Don't  look  like  there's  much  show,"  she  re- 
marked in  a  hopeless  tone. 

Ruth  shook  her  head. 

"  An'  they  pay  high  here,  too.  I  know  a  girl  in 
here  that  gets  ten  dollars  a  week." 

"  Don't  they  all  get  as  much  as  that  ?  "  asked 
Ruth. 

The  girl  turned  a  wondering  glance  on  her. 
"  Are  you  trying  to  josh  me  ?  "  she  demanded  sus- 
piciously. 

"  Oh,  no ! "  answered  Ruth  hastily.  "I  am  a 
stranger  in  the  city.  I  do  not  know  how  much  the 
stores  pay." 

"  Oh ! "  said  the  girl.  "  Well,  some  girls  gets 
ten,  but  the  most  get  anywheres  from  eight  to  three 
and  a  half  a  week." 

"  Three  and  a  half !  Why,  you  must  be  mistaken. 
Nobody  could  live  on  that,  or  even  on  five." 

"  Some  of  them  lives  at  home,  and  their  folks 
help  them  out." 

"  But  the  others " 

The  girl  laughed  harshly.  "  Gee,  you  are  green ! 
But  so  was  I  once.  I  was  so  green  that,  when  I 
got  my  pay  envelope  with  four  dollars  in  it,  I  went 
up  to  the  floor-walker  and  asked  how  he  s'posed  a 
girl  was  goin'  to  live  on  that.  He  told  me  a  pretty 
girl  wasn't  supposed  to  live  on  her  wages." 

It  was  a  moment  before  the  girl's  meaning  fil- 


84    THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE 

tered  into  Ruth's  mind.  Then  a  hot  flush  spread 
over  her  face. 

"  No,  no !  "  she  protested.  "  He  didn't  say  that. 
He  couldn't  say  a  thing  like  that !  " 

The  girl  laughed  cynically.  "  Why,  that  ain't 
anything.  Everybody  knows  that  no  girl  can  live 
in  New  York  on  the  wages  the  stores  pay;  it  ain't 
possible,  and  the  men  that  run  the  stores  counts 
on  either  a  girl's  family  making  up  the  difference 
or  else  she's  supposed  to  get  it  out  of  some  man. 
But  wait  till  you  hear  the  rest  of  what  I  was  tell- 
ing you  about. 

"  I  went  up  to  see  the  man  that  run  the  store,  I 
was  so  mad.  I  sort  of  doped  it  out  that  he  was 
on  the  square — I'd  read  in  the  papers  about  his  be- 
ing a  Sunday-school  superintendent — and  I  was 
green  enough  to  think  that  maybe  he  didn't  know 
how  much  girls  in  his  store  was  paid,  and  that  they 
couldn't  live  on  no  such  sum.  Then  I  was  going 
to  have  that  floor-walker  fired  for  insultin'  me. 
Oh,  I  was  the  real  greeny,  all  right!  Of  course 
they  wouldn't  let  me  in  his  office,  but  I  hung  around 
till  he  came  out,  and  then  I  went  up  and  blabbed 
the  whole  thing.    What  do  you  think  he  said  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know,"  answered  Ruth  helplessly. 

"  He  asked  me  if  I  would  get  out  quietly,  or 
would  he  call  the  store  detective  to  put  me  out.  I 
got  out  all  right,  but  I  had  the  satisfaction  of  tell- 


THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE    85 

ing  him  what  I  thought  of  him.  Still  I  don't  sup- 
pose it  was  his  fault.  He  couldn't  pay  any  higher 
than  all  the  rest.  H  he  did,  the  other  stores  would 
sell  things  cheaper  than  he  could,  and  he'd  have  to 
go  out  of  business." 

Ruth  did  not  answer.  The  very  air  seemed  to 
stifle  her.  All  her  most  sacred  feelings  about 
womanhood  were  outraged  by  the  girl's  disclosure. 
Was  it  possible  that  employers  would  pay  less  than 
the  cost  of  the  poorest  living,  and  expect  that  the 
girls  would  make  up  the  deficit  by  offering  up  their 
bodies?  Was  it  possible  that  they  thus  used  pros- 
titution as  a  business  asset,  deliberately  figuring 
that,  because  of  it,  their  employees  would  not  be 
taken  from  them  by  starvation,  thus  forcing  them 
to  raise  wages  in  order  to  keep  their  full  complement 
of  help?  And  if,  as  the  girl  had  said,  the  indi- 
vidual employer  was  powerless  to  right  the  mat- 
ter, where  did  the  responsibility  lie  ?  She  wondered 
if  the  people,  the  good  people,  of  the  country  knew 
of  these  conditions,  and  yet  were  unwilling  to  take 
steps  to  change  them.  She  did  not  know  whether 
they  could  be  changed,  but,  if  not,  what  a  blot  on 
the  boasted  civilization  of  a  mighty  nation!  What 
a  mockery  the  pre-eminence  of  its  commercial  sys- 
tem !  The  girl  had  said  that  many  of  the  employees 
lived  at  home,  but,  even  so,  was  it  fair  that  the 
stores  should  take  them  from  their  families,  and 


86    THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE 

demand  their  labor  for  six  days  out  of  every  week, 
and  then  expect  their  families  to  pay  part  of  their 
wages  ?  And,  anyway,  there  must  be  many  families 
who  were  unable  to  do  this;  there  must  be  many 
who  were  not  only  unable,  but  even  needed  part  of 
a  girl's  salary  to  keep  the  home  going. 

Ruth  was  glad  when  a  man  announced  that  the 
vacancies  had  been  filled,  so  that  she  could  escape 
into  the  outer  air.  As  she  went  out  into  the  street, 
the  roar  of  the  city  greeted  her  ears,  but  in  it  now 
was  no  note  of  soothing.  It  sounded  to  her  like 
the  blood-lust  cry  of  a  wild  beast. 


CHAPTER  X 

Ruth  fought  a  fierce  battle  all  that  day  and  all 
night  against  complete  discouragement,  and  came 
out  of  it  with  one  determination:  no  matter  how 
she  felt,  no  matter  how  hopeless  the  case  might 
seem,  she  would  answer  every  advertisement  that 
promised  the  slightest  chance.  She  would  bring  all 
the  force  of  her  will  to  bear  to  make  her  body  do 
its  duty,  and  no  sickness  of  heart  would  prevent. 
She  felt  sure  that  there  must  be  some  well-paid 
positions,  and  one  of  these  she  must  get.  And  to 
this  resolution  she  held  for  a  month. 

Day  after  day  she  tramped  the  streets  from  morn- 
ing till  night,  receiving  rebuff  after  rebuff.  At 
first  she  did  not  take  Lory's  advice — to  lie  about  her 
lack  of  experience — but  her  honesty  brought  her 
no  success,  nor  did  her  falsehood,  when  she  at  last 
came  to  it,  for  she  had  not  the  hardihood  to  make 
good  the  lie,  and  a  few  questions  left  her  a  con- 
fessed culprit.  At  times  she  acted  on  the  advice  of 
a  well-known  millionaire,  and  offered  to  work  for 
nothing  until  she  could  prove  herself  of  use.  This 
offer  was  met,  for  the  most  part,  with  amusement. 
One  employer,  however,  told  her  roughly  that  he 

87 


88    THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE 

wasn't  running  any  damned  kindergarten.  She  had 
besieged  the  intelligence  offices  in  search  of  a  do- 
mestic position,  but  her  lack  of  references,  coupled 
with  a  certain  unservant-like  bearing,  made  employ- 
ers look  at  her  askance.  It  is  a  common  belief  that 
domestic  positions  are  easy  to  obtain.  People  won- 
der why  the  woman  failure  in  other  lines  ever  need 
go  hungry  with  such  an  opportunity  ever  open  to  her. 
The  recently  arrived  referenceless  Irish  girl,  the 
Pole,  the  Swede,  the  buxom  German — indeed,  there 
are  positions  for  them,  but  for  the  American  girl, 
if  she  appears  above  the  servant  type,  especially 
if  she  is  pretty,  and  can  furnish  no  references  either 
written  or  personal,  there  is  not  one. 

There  were  days  when  the  anticipation  of  failure 
would  make  Ruth  turn  away  from  the  door  of  the 
business  house  which  she  had  intended  to  enter,  and 
only  by  calling  up  every  ounce  of  her  will-power 
could  she  force  herself  to  undergo  the  torture  of 
another  refusal. 

A  furtive,  hang-dog  look  grew  in  her  face,  and 
she  shrank  from  her  fellow-beings.  At  times  she 
hated  them,  hated  the  laughing,  happy  people  she 
passed  in  the  street,  and  most  of  all  the  rich  who 
rode  in  their  carriages  and  automobiles,  not  with 
any  well-defined  hatred,  but  with  the  dull,  unrea- 
soning brute  instinct  which  a  hungry  dog  must  feel 
in  seeing  another  with  a  bone. 


THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE    89 

She  grew  intensely  sensitive.  She  fancied  that 
she  was  the  object  of  every  laugh  she  heard.  A 
man  or  a  woman's  jostling  against  her  in  the  street 
would  bring  the  tears  to  her  eyes.  Discouragement 
filled  her  heart,  to  the  exclusion  of  all  other  emo- 
tions. At  first  there  had  been  times  when  hope 
fought  its  way  valiantly  up  in  her  mind,  but  as  the 
days  went  by,  and  it  had  nothing  to  feed  on,  it 
withered  and  died.  She  felt  that  she  was  a  failure, 
one  of  those  who  had  fought  a  feeble  fight  and  lost. 
Her  days  were  periods  of  unceasing  misery,  and 
at  night  her  pillow  was  wet  with  tears  until  she 
fell  into  an  exhausted  sleep. 

And  yet  the  one  thing  that  weighed  her  down 
more  than  anything  else  was  the  thought  that  she 
was  not  alone  in  her  suffering.  From  her  contact 
with  working- women,  mostly  of  the  store-girl  class, 
she  learned  of  a  state  of  affairs  which  not  only  bore 
out  what  she  had  been  told  by  the  girl  in  Ehren- 
stein's  store,  but  opened  a  much  more  vast  pit  of 
infamy  and  greed.  At  first  she  could  not  believe 
it,  but  she  was  forced  to  by  the  weight  of  evidence's 
proving  it  true.  Nor  was  it  in  the  stores  alone,  with 
their  miserable  wages,  their  systems  of  fines  mak- 
ing these  even  smaller,  their  overtime  work  with 
little  if  any  overtime  pay,  their  asking  an  applicant, 
poor,  hungry,  ill-clad,  desperate,  in  no  position  to 
bargain,  what  was  the  least  for  which  she  would 


90    THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE 

be  willing  to  work,  and  paying  her  that — it  was  not 
only  in  these  stores  where  commercial  greed  was 
rampant,  but  in  every  other  line  in  which  a  woman 
could  "  earn  a  living."  Earn  a  living!  Yes,  it  was 
a  living  if  escape  from  actual  death  by  starvation 
is  termed  a  living. 

In  the  factories  and  sweatshops,  with  their  in- 
geniously arranged  piece  work,  where,  as  the  work- 
ers become  more  expert,  the  pay  per  piece  was 
gradually  reduced;  in  the  offices  and  wholesale 
houses,  restaurants,  hotels — everywhere  was  the 
same  desire — to  get  work  done  for  the  least  pos- 
sible sum,  with  absolutely  no  regard  for  the  wel- 
fare of  the  worker.  Yes,  it  was  infamy — hideous, 
degrading  infamy — and  its  results  were  equally 
hideous  and  degrading. 

For  all  this  injustice,  all  this  meagerness  of  wage 
pointed  the  way  inexorably  to  one  thing.  There 
were  many  girls  who  escaped  the  common  fate, 
whose  characters  were  strong  enough  to  resist  the 
almost  irresistible  force  of  poverty  and  temptation. 
There  were  girls  whose  lives  in  the  midst  of  this 
muck  put  to  shame  the  lives  of  the  so-called  saints, 
but  an  appalling  number  took  the  beaten  path.  It 
was  the  common  thing  for  a  working  girl  to  be  the 
recipient  of  money  from  some  man,  money  which 
would  give  her  a  taste  of  the  joys  of  life  from 
which  she  was  otherwise  hopelessly  debarred,  which 


THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE    91 

would  bestow  upon  her  those  Httle  fineries  so  dear 
to  the  feminine  heart,  fineries  as  much  ordained  by 
nature  as  is  the  brilliant  plumage  of  the  male  bird 
during  mating  season.  Every  force  of  nature, 
every  known  variety  of  temptation  lured  her  on  to 
her  almost  inevitable  lot. 

Ruth  had  known  in  a  vague  way  of  the  social 
problem,  but  this  phase  of  it,  by  far  the  most  ter- 
rible in  its  significance,  the  most  appalling  in  its 
tendency  to  debase  the  race,  was  disclosed  to  her 
for  the  first  time. 

At  last  the  strain  proved  too  great  for  her  mind 
and  body.  There  came  a  day  when  she  had  not  the 
strength  or  courage  to  make  another  effort,  when 
she  sat  in  her  stifling  room  in  a  dazed  stupor,  from 
which  even  the  kindly  ministrations  of  the  old  Ger- 
man woman  could  not  rouse  her.  She  prayed  for 
death,  as  she  had  prayed  for  it  daily  and  nightly 
for  the  past  two  weeks.  She  had  come  to  New 
York  to  embark  on  the  sea  of  life,  seeing  only  the 
glistening  ripples  on  its  surface.  Now  she  knew 
of  the  rank  ooze  that  lurked  far  beneath,  in  which 
lay  the  shattered  wrecks  of  lives  which  should  have 
been  good  and  pure  and  useful,  a  credit  to  the 
country  which  ranks  foremost  in  the  civilized  world. 
But  instead  they  lay  hopelessly  sunk  in  the  moral 
slime  of  the  Empire  City. 


CHAPTER  XI 

The  sun  beat  down  mercilessly  on  the  sweltering 
city.  Not  a  cloud  relieved  the  torrid  blueness  of 
the  blazing  sky;  not  a  breath  of  wind  brought  a 
second's  assuagement  to  the  suffering  inhabitants. 
Over  on  the  East  Side,  Death  stalked  grimly,  reap- 
ing his  harvest  of  babies>  and  of  the  old  and  feeble. 
The  ambulance  gong  sounded  everywhere.  The 
hospitals  were  full  to  overflowing.  Through  every 
door  of  egress  from  the  city,  the  inhabitants  were 
fleeing.  The  ferries  were  overladen  with  their  bur- 
den of  gasping  humanity,  seeking  the  comparative 
cool  of  Long  Island,  or,  to  the  westward,  New  Jer- 
sey, where  the  crowds  divided,  some  seeking  the 
hills  as  a  refuge,  others  the  beach  resorts.  The 
boats  sailing  from  the  Battery  to  Coney  Island  were 
jammed  with  a  haggard  mob  of  men  and  women 
and  children,  who  were  almost  on  the  verge  of  ut- 
ter prostration.  This  was  the  third  day  of  the  awful 
heat,  and  it  seemed  as  if  flesh  and  blood  could  stand 
no  more.  Eager  eyes  scanned  the  western  horizon 
for  a  cloud  which,  the  papers  had  promised,  would 
bring  relief,  and  eager  ears  strained  for  the  first 
low  muttering  of  thunder. 

9a 


THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE    93 

In  Ruth's  room  the  temperature  was  over  a  hun- 
dred, but  she  did  not  feel  the  heat;  her  misery  of 
mind  was  so  great  that  the  discomfort  of  her  body 
was  unnoticed.  She  stared  at  the  fantastic  designs 
of  the  wall  paper  until,  at  times,  these  resolved 
themselves  into  hideous  fiends,  who  leered  at 
her  with  devilish  enjoyment  of  her  suffering. 
Sometimes  a  grim  amusement  would  sweep  over 
her.  She  almost  laughed  to  think  of  the  air  castles 
she  had  built  before  coming  to  this  city.  How 
ludicrous  it  must  have  seemed  to  Lory  to  hear  her 
talk  of  having  a  good  education  and  being  willing 
to  learn.  Then,  in  a  burst  of  anger,  she  would  rage 
against  Fate  for  having  brought  her  to  this.  Why 
could  she  not  have  been  left  alone,  she  and  John, 
when  they  were  so  happy?  Was  it  really  God  who 
had  brought  about  all  this  misery?  She  could  not 
believe  it;  and  yet  why  had  He  allowed  it — why  did 
He  allow  any  of  the  horrible  things  that  were  al- 
ways taking  place  ?  Could  it  be  that  He  could  find 
any  enjoyment  in  this  world  which  He  had  created, 
and  had  allowed  to  be  so  overfilled  with  suffering? 
No;  it  was  impossible  to  conceive  such  a  thing;  she 
would  not  believe  it. 

And  then  for  a  time  her  mind  wandered.  She 
was  talking  to  John  back  in  Harbury.  It  was  fall ; 
she  could  feel  the  keen,  brisk  air  fanning  her  cheek ; 
she  could  see  the  glorious  coloring  of  the  foliage. 


94    THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE 

And  there  was  a  little  boy  toddling  along  beside 
them,  her  baby.  She  held  the  tiny  hand  in  hers,  and 
listened  to  the  childish  prattle.  She  laughed  hap- 
pily, and  the  laugh  aroused  her.  She  cast  a  fright- 
ened glance  around  at  the  bare  little  room,  and  knew 
that  her  happiness  had  been  but  a  mirage  to  torture 
her  still  more.  After  a  wild  burst  of  despairing 
tears,  she  sank  into  hopeless  apathy. 

Then  she  seemed  to  hear  footsteps  in  the  hall 
without,  and  dimly  her  ears  took  note  of  a  knock 
at  the  door.  Then  it  appeared  as  if  the  door  was 
thrown  open.  She  seemed  to  see  Lory,  Lory 
clothed  from  head  to  foot  in  white,  and  carrying 
a  scarlet  parasol.  With  her  was  a  man.  Was  it 
John?  No,  for  John  was  tall  and  dark,  and  this 
man  was  shorter,  with  blue  eyes  and  light  hair. 
She  wondered  who  he  was,  and,  in  the  very  act  of 
wondering,  knew  that  it  was  all  a  hallucination. 
She  passed  a  hand  uncertainly  across  her  eyes. 

Lory's  voice  startled  her: 

"  You  poor  kid !  What  have  you  been  doing  to 
yourself?  " 

Ruth  brushed  her  hand  across  her  eyes  again, 
but  still  the  figure  was  there,  and  now  it  advanced 
and  dropped  down  beside  her,  and  she  felt  an  arm 
thrown  closely  about  her.  Startled  conviction 
leaped  into  her  mind. 

"  Lory !  "  she  cried  weakly.     "  Oh,  Lory,  I'm  so 


THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE    95 

tired !    I've  tried  to  find  work,  and "    Her  voice 

trailed  off  into  silence. 

Lory  turned  to  the  man.  "Jack,  the  kid's  sick; 
she's  fainted.    You'd  better  get  a  doctor." 

The  man  hastened  away  on  his  errand,  and  Lory 
carried  the  wasted  form  to  the  bed.  She  bathed  the 
girl's  face  with  cool  water,  and  chafed  her  hot 
hands,  but  she  could  not  bring  her  back  to  con- 
sciousness. 

The  doctor,  when  he  came,  shook  his  head 
gravely. 

"  She  has  a  high  fever,"  he  said.  "  Has  she 
had  anything  to  worry  her  ?  " 

"  Oh,  no !  "  answered  Lory  grimly.  "  She  only 
butted  into  New  York  to  find  work  when  she  did 
not  know  how  to  do  a  blamed  thing.  Regular  pic-, 
nic,  that!" 

The  physician  turned  his  eyes  sadly  on  the  fragile 
form  on  the  bed.  "  It  beats  me  why  they  do  it," 
he  remarked  half  to  himself.  "  I  see  so  many  cases 
like  this.  There  are  thousands  of  them  coming  to 
New  York  every  day.  God !  if  some  one  would  only 
warn  them — tell  them  to  keep  away  from  New  York 
as  if  it  were  a  plague  city " 

"  And  so  it  is,"  commented  Lory  bitterly.  "  It's 
rotten !    But  what  about  the  kid  ?  " 

The  doctor  threw  out  his  hands  in  a  despairing 
gesture.     "  Total  collapse — brain  fever — anything. 


96    THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE 

How  can  I  tell?  Her  body  has  been  starved,  and 
her  brain  overfed  with  distressing  thoughts — and 
then  with  this  heat — well,  we'll  have  to  get  her 
out  of  this,  anyway.  I'll  call  an  ambulance.  She'll 
have  to  be  taken  to  a  hospital." 

"  Wait,"  said  Lory  sharply.  "  Jack,"  turning  to 
her  companion,  "  I  think  I'm  going  to  be  the  Good 
Samaritan.  I  think  I'm  going  to  take  this  kid 
home  with  me.    What  do  you  say  ?  " 

Jack  Marshall  stopped  in  his  restless  pacing  of 
the  room. 

"  I  don't  know. — It'd  mean  a  lot  of  bother  for 
you. — She  may  be  sick  for  a  long  time." 

"  Come  over  here,  Jack." 

She  led  him  to  the  bed.     "  Now  look  at  her ! " 

Ruth's  face,  flushed  with  fever  on  the  pillow, 
looked  singularly  child-like  and  pathetic.  The  man 
nodded : 

"  I  guess  you're  right,  but  what  are  you  going 
to  do  with  her  when  she  gets  well  ?  " 

Lory  shrugged  her  shoulders.  "  Time  enough 
to  think  about  that  when  she  is  well.  Your  car  is 
waiting,  isn't  it?" 

"  Yes,  I  told  the  chauffeur  to  be  back  in  ten  min- 
utes.   He  must  be  here  now." 

"  Then  we'll  take  her  right  home." 

The  physician  looked  from  one  to  the  other  with 
a  gratified  smile  on  his  face.     "  I  wish  I  saw  more 


THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE    97 

of  this  kind  of  thing,  or  maybe,"  turning  to  Lory, 
"  you  are  an  angel  is  disguise." 

"  Angels  don't  carry  red  parasols,"  she  retorted, 
laughing. 

"  I  said  *  in  disguise.'  " 

"  Well,  I  guess  it's  a  blamed  good  disguise,  if 
I  am,  taking  everything  into  consideration,  but  we 
want  to  get  a  move  on  now  and  get  the  kid  home. 
You'll  come  along,  doc?" 

The  physician  took  the  unconscious  girl  in  his 
arms,  and  carried  her  out  to  the  waiting  car.  He 
deposited  her  on  the  rear  seat,  and  Lory  got  in  be- 
side her.  He  remained  standing  on  the  step,  lean- 
ing over  into  the  car,  with  a  finger  on  the  patient's 
pulse. 

"  Drive  fast,"  he  said  to  Jack  in  a  low  tone. 

Lory  looked  up  with  a  frightened  expression  on 
her  face.    "  Does  that  mean ?  " 

He  nodded  without  taking  his  eyes  off  the  pa- 
tient's face. 

Jack  took  the  Eighty-sixth  Street  cut  through  the 
park,  where  there  was  little  traffic  to  hinder  the 
speed  of  the  car.  The  machine  careered  wildly 
along  the  narrow  way,  and  dashed  around  into 
Eighth  Avenue,  missing  a  trolley  car  by  a  frac- 
tion of  an  inch,  and  continued  its  flight  northward, 
with  a  policeman,  mounted  on  a  motorcycle,  in  full 
pursuit.     At  Ninety-third  Street   the  driver  was 


98    THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE 

compelled  to  slow  up  to  avoid  collision  with  a  truck, 
and  the  policeman  ranged  alongside.  The  doctor 
shouted  at  him  that  it  was  a  case  of  life  or  death, 
and  he  dropped  back.  The  machine  flew  on,  honk- 
ing out  its  warning  to  pedestrians  and  traffic.  At 
One  Hundred  and  Tenth  Street  the  car  turned  the 
comer  on  two  wheels,  and  rounded  into  Manhat- 
tan Avenue,  drawing  up  suddenly  before  an  apart- 
ment house. 

Lory  sprang  out  and  led  the  way  up  to  her  apart- 
ments, the  doctor  following  with  his  unconscious 
burden.  He  laid  her  on  the  bed,  and  breathed  a 
sigh  of  relief.  "  I  thought  she  was  gone  once,"  he 
said. 

While  he  was  speaking  he  opened  his  case  and 
took  out  a  hypodermic.  He  administered  the  dose, 
and  watched  the  result  with  a  satisfied  smile. 

*'  She  responds  nicely.  I  think  we'll  pull  her 
through  all  right." 

Lory  stood  looking  over  his  shoulder.  "  I  wish 
I'd  found  her  sooner,"  she  said.  "  I  meant  to  go 
around  to  see  her  a  week  ago,  but — well,  you  know 
how  easy  it  is  to  put  things  off." 

"  Then  you  haven't  seen  her  before — lately,  I 
mean  ? " 

"  I  only  saw  her  once  before.  I  met  her  on  the 
train  coming  from  Boston.  She  was  just  blowing 
in  from  the  country,  and  I  was  afraid  she  would 


THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE    99 

find  New  York  a  pretty  stiff  proposition.  That's 
the  reason  I  looked  her  up  to-day.  It  was  lucky 
I  did." 

"  Then  she's  practically  a  stranger  to  you  ? "  . 

Lory  nodded. 

"  And  yet  you — I  believe  you  are  an  angel,  after 
all." 

"  Sure  she  is,"  put  in  Jack.  "  She's  always  doing 
things  like  this,  only  she  doesn't  like  to  be  found 
out.  If  you  hadn't  been  on  the  spot,  you  wouldn't 
know  about  this." 

The  doctor  rose  to  go.  "  You've  restored  my 
faith  in  human  nature,"  he  said  lightly,  yet  there 
was  an  undertone  of  seriousness  in  the  words. 

For  days  Ruth  tossed  in  delirium,  and  it  was  only 
due  to  Lory's  careful  nursing  that  she  lived  at  all. 
For  three  days  and  nights  Lory  did  not  leave  the 
bedside,  until  Jack  put  his  foot  down  and  called  in 
a  trained  nurse.  Lory  consented  to  this  simply  be- 
cause she  was  afraid  that  her  tired  body  would  drop 
off  to  sleep  and  she  would  neglect  the  patient. 

But  the  fever  finally  broke,  and  then  came  days 
when  Ruth  lay  in  a  listless  apathy.  She  hardly  ever 
spoke,  and  she  did  not  express  gratitude  to  Lory, 
but  her  eyes  followed  the  other  woman  with  a  look 
of  adoration.  At  last  the  patient's  strength  began 
to  come  back,  and  one  day  she  broached  the  sub- 
ject that  lay  heavy  on  her  mind. 


loo    THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE 

"  Lory,"  she  said  weakly,  "  I  can  never  thank 
you  enough  for  all  you  have  done  for  me,  but  I 
am  getting  strong  now.  I  must  go  away.  I  must 
look  for  work  again." 

Lory  advanced  toward  the  bed  menacingly. 
"  Look  here,  kid,  if  you  want  to  make  me  mad,  just 
keep  on  with  that  line  of  talk.  You're  my  guest — 
my  guest,  do  you  understand  that?  And,  what's 
more,  you're  going  to  play  the  part  all  summer. 
You  couldn't  get  a  job  now  to  save  your  soul.  In 
the  fall,  we'll  get  you  on  the  stage  or  something. 
Anyhow,  we  can  talk  about  it  then,  but  for  the 
present  you're  going  to  stay  with  me  here." 

"  But,"  protested  Ruth,  "  I  haven't  any  money. 


"  What  do  I  care  whether  you  have  any  money 
or  not  ? "  demanded  Lory  fiercely.  "  I've  got 
bunches  of  it — made  it  playing  the  races.  Jack 
got  a  lot  of  good  tips  last  week.  We'll  use  that 
up,  and  then  we'll  go  out  and  beat  the  world  on  the 
head  until  it  hollers  and  coughs  up  some  more." 

Ruth  laughed, — a  little  feeble  laugh,  but  still 
one. 

"  You're  better,  kid !  "  cried  the  delighted  Lory. 
"  Here  I've  tried  my  best  to  be  funny  for  the  last 
two  weeks,  and  you  wouldn't  even  crack  a  smile. 
I  was  beginning  to  think  you  had  lost  your  sense  of 
humor." 


THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE     loi 

But  Ruth  returned  to  the  matter  under  discus- 
sion, much  to  Lory's  disgust. 

"  I  can't  Hve  on  you,  Lory.    You " 

"I  want  to  ask  you  one  question,"  interrupted 
the  other.  "  If  I  was  down  and  out,  wouldn't  you 
stake  me  for  one  measly  summer,  if  you  had 
money  ?  " 

"  Yes,  but " 

"  Then  forget  it,  and  talk  about  the  weather." 

And  to  all  Ruth's  further  protests  she  turned  a 
deaf  ear.  Lory  was  used  to  having  her  own  way, 
and  she  did  not  intend  to  depart  from  her  custom 
in  this  instance.  So  the  relations  between  the  two 
girls  were  drawn.  When  Ruth  was  better,  Lory 
insisted  on  providing  her  with  a  wardrobe.  "  You 
can't  make  good  in  New  York  unless  you  have  the 
rags,"  she  told  Ruth. 

But  here  for  once  Ruth  was  firm — that  is,  until 
Lory  forced  a  few  tears,  when  Ruth,  in  consterna- 
tion at  having  wounded  her  friend,  gave  in. 

And  thus  it  came  about  that  Ruth  Lawson  re- 
mained on  as  the  guest  of  Lory  Williams. 


CHAPTER  XII 

Six  weeks  had  passed  since  that  sweltering  June 
day  on  which  Lory  had  brought  Ruth  to  her  apart- 
ment, and  in  these  six  weeks  much  had  happened. 
Under  the  influence  of  Lory's  cheerful  optimism, 
Ruth's  spirits  had  risen  greatly.  While  there  still 
lurked  an  expression  of  sadness  in  her  eyes,  her 
laugh  was  more  frequent,  and  she  looked  out  into 
the  future  with  less  foreboding. 

The  principal  reason  for  this  changed  condition 
of  mind  was  the  fact  that  in  the  fall  she  would  go 
on  the  stage,  and  then  she  would  be  able  to  send 
money  home  to  John  and  his  mother.  Lory  had 
made  Ruth's  success  seem  so  assured  that  the  girl 
had  come  to  look  upon  it  as  almost  an  accom- 
plished fact,  Ruth  knew  that  she  could  sing  well, 
and  she  also  knew — without  vanity — that  she  was 
pretty.  Lory  had  taught  her  enough  of  stage  danc- 
ing for  her  to  be  confident  that  she  could  dance 
gracefully.  Lory  was  positive  in  her  declaration 
that  Ruth  would  make  a  "hit,"  and  Ruth  tried 
to  accept  her  judgment  as  final,  and  did  her  best  to 
dismiss  the  depressing  thoughts  that  were  always 
springing  up  in  her  mind. 

Z03 


THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE     103 

In  these  days  she  did  not  miss  John.  Since  her 
sickness,  he  and  all  of  her  past  life  in  Harbury 
seemed  a  dream,  and  the  letters  from  his  mother, 
documents  from  another  world. — Not  that  her  love 
for  him  was  dead;  had  he  appeared  before  her 
again  in  possession  of  his  mind,  her  passion  would 
have  revived  at  a  bound,  but  she  had  given  up  all 
hopes  of  his  recovery,  and,  if  her  thoughts  did 
dwell  on  him,  she  strove  to  think  of  something  else, 
realizing  the  futility  of  vain  longing. 

Ruth  was  now  busily  engaged  in  preparing  din- 
ner. At  first  Lory  had  insisted  that  Ruth  should 
do  none  of  the  work  incidental  to  running  the  small 
household,  but  when  she  had  found  that  it  was  a 
real  pleasure  to  Ruth  she  consented.  And  Ruth  was 
happy  in  doing  whatever  she  could  for  Lory's  com- 
fort; in  a  way  it  allowed  her  to  express  the  grati- 
tude which  Lory  would  not  let  her  voice,  but  which 
she  constantly  felt. 

As  she  flitted  to  and  fro  about  the  tiny  kitchen, 
her  mind  was  filled  with  thoughts  of  her  friend. 
Ruth  loved  Lory,  and  her  love  made  her  anxious. 
She  could  not  approve  of  all  Lory's  ways,  and  it 
worried  her.  Not  that  she  blamed  her  friend,  for 
she  recognized  Lory's  habits  as  the  result  of  envi- 
ronment, but  she  could  never  see  her  smoking  ciga- 
rettes or  drinking  highballs,  or  hear  her  tell  of 
midnight  suppers,  poker  parties,  and  playing  the 


I04    THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE 

races,  and  not  feel  sorry  that  Lory,  who  was  so 
good,  should  do  these  things. 

There  was  another  thing  about  which  Ruth  was 
troubled;  Jack  came  to  see  Lory  almost  daily,  and 
Ruth  supposed  that  they  were  engaged,  but  Lory 
never  spoke  of  their  marriage.  Ruth  feared  that 
a  case  of  which  she  had  known  in  Harbury  might 
be  duplicated  in  her  friend's  experience.  There  had 
been  a  young  woman  of  Ruth's  acquaintance  who 
had  "  kept  company  "  with  a  man  for  ten  years,  at 
the  end  of  which  time  he  had  married  a  younger 
woman.  Ruth  liked  Jack  Marshall;  he  was  light- 
hearted  and  boyishly  frank,  and  he  had  always  been 
very  kind  to  her.  But  there  was  a  lack  of  serious- 
ness about  him  which  made  her  fear  for  her  friend's 
happiness.  Ruth  had  determined  to  do  all  she  could 
to  hasten  the  marriage,  and  with  this  end  in  view 
had  asked  Lory  when  she  and  Jack  were  to  be 
married.  Lory  had  stared  at  her  for  a  moment, 
and  then  burst  out  laughing.  "  You  dear  little 
Puritan,"  she  had  cried.  Ruth  had  turned  this 
answer  over  in  her  mind  for  many  days,  but  could 
make  nothing  of  it.  Nor  did  she  dare  to  venture 
the  question  again. 

In  the  time  she  had  been  living  with  Lory,  she 
had  met  many  of  Lory's  friends  and  they  puzzled 
her.  They  talked  with  direct  openness  on  subjects 
about  which  in  Harbury  it  was  considered  almost 


THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE     105 

a  crime  even  to  think.  There  were  times  when  Ruth 
pleaded  a  headache  and  escaped  to  her  room,  until 
it  became  Lory's  custom  to  say :  "  Ruth,  dear,  Vio- 
lette — or  some  other  girl — is  coming  this  afternoon. 
I  guess  you  had  better  have  a  headache."  And  yet 
she  could  not  conceive  that  these  girls  were  not 
good  girls.  They  all  treated  her  with  the  greatest 
kindness;  she  felt  better  acquainted  with  them  after 
knowing  them  half  an  hour  than  she  would  have  in 
a  year  of  the  Harbury  brand  of  friendship.  They 
were  singularly  simple-hearted  and  generous,  and 
they  were  loyal  to  their  friends.  It  was  only  when 
their  interests  in  their  profession  clashed — they 
were  most  of  them  connected  with  the  stage — that 
they  were  the  opposite.  Then  they  swung  to  the 
other  extreme,  and  became  absolutely  childish  in 
their  unreason  and  jealousy.  At  first  Ruth  tried 
to  sum  them  up  according  to  Harbury  standards,  but 
the  results  were  so  dismal  that  she  gave  it  up.  She 
was  as  much  bewildered  as  she  would  have  been  had 
she  been  transported  to  Mars,  and  endeavored  to 
find  out  the  worth  of  the  inhabitants  by  their  cus- 
toms. In  Harbury  it  was  customary  to  label  people 
as  dogmatically,  and  with  as  much  precision  as  one 
would  label  specimens  of  beetles  or  insects;  any  man 
or  woman  or  child  who  did  certain  things  was  good; 
if  they  did  certain  other  things,  they  were  bad; 
that  was  all  there  was  to  it.    In  Harbury,  for  in- 


io6    THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE 

stance,  Lory  would  have  been  labeled  bad ;  her  smok- 
ing cigarettes  in  itself  would  have  showed  her  moral 
place  in  life.  But  Ruth  knew  that,  on  the  contrary, 
Lory  was  one  of  the  best  women  she  had  ever  met. 
There  were  no  bounds  to  her  kindness  of  heart,  to 
her  charity.  No  "  hard-luck  story  "  was  too  pre- 
posterous to  gain  her  sympathy:  no  one  in  need  of 
a  friend  ever  came  to  her  in  vain.  And  many  of 
the  women  Ruth  met  were  like  Lory.  So  she  de- 
spaired of  reaching  an  understanding  of  them,  and 
rested  content  to  take  them  at  face  value,  which 
was  in  their  favor. 

This  afternoon  Ruth  was  a  little  nervous,  and 
very  much  excited,  for  to-night  Benjamin  Rudolf, 
a  theatrical  manager  who,  Lory  had  declared,  could 
make  Ruth's  success  on  the  stage  assured  if  he 
chose  to,  was  coming  to  the  house.  He  was  a 
friend  of  Lory  and  Jack's,  and  they  had  bulldozed 
him  into  coming,  which,  from  the  number  of  times 
he  had  put  it  off,  was  evidently  against  his  desire. 
But  now  he  had  promised  that  to-night  he  would 
surely  arrive. 

The  dinner  was  prepared,  and  Lory  did  not 
come.  Ruth  was  disappointed,  but  not  surprised; 
Lory's  punctuality  was  a  trait  quite  undeveloped. 
Once  in  a  great  while  she  was  on  time,  but  it  was 
merely  in  the  nature  of  an  accident.  Ruth  waited 
for  an  hour,  and  then  ate  dinner  alone.     She  was 


THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE     107 

a  little  worried,  as  she  always  was  when  Lory  did 
not  come  home  at  the  exact  moment  she  had  said 
she  would,  and  after  finishing  dinner  roamed  rest- 
lessly around  the  little  apartment,  trying  to  amuse 
herself  by  looking  at  the  pictures  with  which  Lory 
had  covered  the  walls.  Lory  had  her  own  idea  of 
art,  and  in  a  way  she  was  a  collector.  Whenever 
she  saw  a  picture  that  appealed  to  her,  she  bought 
it,  whether  it  was  an  oil  painting  or  a  penny  postal 
card.  She  carried  it  home,  and  hung  it  on  the 
wall  wherever  there  happened  to  be  a  space;  or,  if 
there  were  none,  she  tore  down  something  of  which 
she  was  tired  and  put  the  new  one  there.  The 
result  was  that  the  walls  presented  a  strange  and 
conglomerate  aspect.  Of  some  of  the  pictures  Ruth 
could  not  approve;  they  were  what  are  sometimes 
called  "  spicy,"  but  the  majority  of  them  were  mild 
enough.  A  strange  incongruity  in  Lory's  nature 
led  her  to  love  pictures  of  rural  life — although  she 
would  not  have  been  happy  a  day  in  the  country — 
and  so  many  of  the  scenes  on  the  walls  were  laid 
in  Arcadia.  It  produced  a  strange  impression  to 
see  a  scantily  clothed  ballet  girl,  with  toe  pointed 
toward  the  sky,  between  two  pictures  of  pastoral 
quietude. 

After  a  while  she  drifted  over  to  the  piano.  For 
a  time  she  played  listlessly.  Then  the  spirit  of  the 
music  crept  into  her  heart.    She  sang.    Something, 


io8    THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE 

maybe  it  was  the  excitement  of  the  expected  visit 
of  Benjamin  Rudolf,  perhaps  it  was  the  passion  for 
harmony  that  sometimes  grips  the  human  soul  like 
a  vise — whatever  it  was,  something  made  her  sing 
as  she  had  not  sung  since  that  day  so  many  weary 
months  ago  when  she  was  waiting  amid  the  flow- 
ers for  John's  return.  And  now  she  sang  even  bet- 
ter, for  then  it  was  a  child  who  sang;  now  it  was 
a  woman,  a  woman  who  had  suffered,  and  thus 
come  into  the  full  estate  of  her  womanhood.  She 
drifted  from  one  selection  to  another,  some  sad, 
some  gay,  until  at  last  her  fingers  dropped  from 
the  keys,  and  she  arose.  A  soft  clapping  of  hands 
startled  her.  She  turned  quickly  to  look  into  the 
laughing  faces  of  Jack  and  Lory.  With  them  was 
a  man,  a  stranger. 

Lory  was  delighted  about  something. 

"  Oh,  it  couldn't  have  been  better,"  she  exclaimed 
joyfully.    "  Now  was  I  right,  Rudy ;  can  she  sing?  " 

The  man  laughed.  "  I  am  fully  prepared  to  ad- 
mit that  she  can,  but  perhaps  you  had  better  present 
me  to  the  young  lady.  It  is  rather  embarrassing  for 
me  to  stand  here  without  an  introduction." 

"  Why,  you  poor  dear ! "  laughed  Lory,  "  and 
you  so  shy,  too !  I  ought  to  be  ashamed  of  myself. 
Miss  Lawson,  allow  me  to  present  Mr.  Benjamin 
Rudolf,  a  theatrical  manager  who  has  fooled  the 
public  into  thinking  he  can  put  on  good  shows.    Of 


THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE     109 

course,  it  is  all  a  bluff,  but  you  must  not  let  him 
know  you  think  so,  or  he  would  feel  hurt.  Rudy  is 
a  sensitive  little  flower,  and " 

"  Say,  Lory,"  called  Jack  from  the  dining-room, 
"  if  you  ever  get  through  talking,  which  I  doubt, 
will  you  kindly  come  out  here  and  tell  me  where  you 
have  hidden  that  corkscrew?  You  stow  it  away  in 
a  new  place  every  time  I  come.  You  must  want 
a  fellow  to  die  of  thirst." 

"  No  danger  of  your  dying  of  thirst,"  retorted 
Lory.  "  You'd  break  the  necks  off  the  bottles  first. 
I'll  be  there  in  a  moment,  only  don't  go  mussing 
around,  upsetting  everything.  It's  probably  right 
under  your  nose." 

"  I'll  bet  you  that  you  can't  find  it  yourself," 
answered  Jack  in  an  injured  tone.  "  Hurry  up, 
will  you?  " 

"  You  two  will  have  to  finish  introducing  your- 
selves," said  Lory,  smiling.  "  You  see,  he  won't 
be  happy  till  he  gets  it." 

She  went  into  the  other  room,  and  Ruth  and  Ben- 
jamin Rudolf  were  left  alone. 

"  You  sing  well,"  he  commended  gravely.  "  I 
never  realized  before  that  there  was  any  beauty  in 
some  of  those  things  you  were  singing,  but  you 
have  convinced  me." 

Ruth  smiled  happily.     "  Thank  you,"  she  said. 

He  strolled  over  to  the  table  to  get  a  cigarette. 


no    THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE 

and  Ruth  had  a  good  chance  to  observe  him.  So 
this  was  the  great  Benjamin  Rudolf,  the  man  who 
produced  more  Hght  musical  successes  than  any 
other  manager  in  America!  He  was  of  medium 
height,  rather  stocky,  and,  like  many  of  his  race, 
dark.  Yet  the  resemblance  ended  there;  his  fea- 
tures were  regular  and  more  like  those  of  a  Span- 
iard than  of  a  Hebrew.  In  dress  he  was  quiet,  and 
the  cut  of  his  clothes  was  faultless;  Ruth  divined 
that  they  were  expensive.  He  wore  no  jewelry  of 
any  kind,  a  simple  gold  scarf-pin  being  his  only 
ornament.  Altogether  he  was  very  different  from 
the  man  whom  she  had  expected  to  see,  for  she  had 
drawn  a  mental  image  of  him  as  a  loud,  flashy  indi- 
vidual with  the  traditional  diamond  sparkling  in  his 
shirt  front.  Lory  had  told  her  that  Benjamin  Ru- 
dolf was  forty-five  years  of  age,  but  he  did  not  look 
it,  and  when  he  smiled  he  might  have  passed  for 
little  more  than  half  that  age. 

Meanwhile  he  had  lighted  his  cigarette  and  taken 
a  seat  facing  her: 

"  I  understand  that  you  are  thinking  of  the  stage 
as  a  profession,  Miss  Lawson." 

"  Yes,"  answered  Ruth.  "  Lory  seems  to  think 
I  ought  to  try  it." 

"  Lory  is  right,"  he  assented.  "  You  sing  far 
better  than  the  average  light-opera  comedienne,  and, 
Lory  tells  me,  you  dance  gracefully.    Add  to  that 


THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE     in 

fact  that  you  are  beautiful,  and  you  have  the  three 
attributes  for  success  in  musical  comedy." 

He  uttered  the  praise  in  an  entirely  impersonal 
manner,  but  Ruth  flushed. 

He  added  laughingly,  "And  you  blush  prettily. 
We  shall  have  to  make  you  do  that  on  the  stage. 
So  few  actresses  have  the  accomplishment." 

Ruth  laughed  frankly  at  her  own  embarrassment, 
"  It  is  rather  an  awkward  habit — blushing — it 
places  one  at  a  disadvantage." 

"  If  to  look  charming  is  a  disadvantage,  it  does 
— in  your  case." 

Ruth  was  not  used  to  this  style  of  conversation, 
and  she  was  at  a  loss  to  know  what  to  say,  but  the 
necessity  of  an  answer  was  done  away  with  by  the 
reappearance  of  Jack  and  Lory,  who  between  them 
bore  the  necessary  ingredients  of  a  highball.  Lory 
poured  out  some  whisky  in  a  glass.  "  Say  when, 
Rudy." 

"  None  for  me,  thank  you." 

"What?"  She  looked  up,  holding  the  bottle 
still  poised  in  the  air,  a  comical  look*  of  surprise 
on  her  face. 

"  I  am  not  drinking  to-night,"  he  said  quietly. 

Lory  still  stared  at  him  in  astonishment.  "The 
world  has  come  to  an  end,  Jack,"  she  complained, 
"  and  we  are  in  the  millennium.  Rudy's  on  the 
water  wagon." 


112    THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE 

"  Not  on  your  life !    He's  only  joking." 

"  Are  you  joking,  Rudy?  "  she  asked  hopefully. 

"  I  am  not,"  he  answered,  smiling.  "  I  do  not 
care  to  drink  to-night." 

"  It's  queer,"  said  Jack  in  a  doleful  voice,  "  how 
quickly  a  perfectly  rational  man  will  go  off  his  bal- 
ance. Why,  only  on  the  way  up  here  I  was  talking 
to  Rudy  and  he  seemed  all  right.  Now  look  at  him, 
a  poor  raving  imbecile,  blind  to  the  delights  of  a 
highball." 

"  If  you  had  been  a  little  blinder  last  night,  my 
dear  friend,"  he  retorted,  laughing,  "  you  would 
not  have  had  such  a  headache  this  morning." 

"  Just  listen  to  the  man  talk !  "  cried  Jack  in  an 
aggrieved  tone.  "When  it  was  he — but  there,  I 
won't  tell  on  him.  Come  on,  Lory,  let's  you  and 
I  hie  ourselves  to  the  dining-room.  I  can  see  that 
this  is  no  place  for  us." 

Lory  assented  to  this  suggestion,  dismally  de- 
claring that  nothing  was  the  same  as  when  she  was 
young. 

Ruth  somewhat  doubted  the  propriety  of  her  be- 
ing left  alone  with  Rudolf,  but  he  gave  her  no 
chance  to  follow  the  others. 

"  Now  that  the  children  are  disposed  of,"  he  said 
lightly,  "  we  can  talk  business.  I'm  just  wondering 
what  part  will  suit  you  best.  You  are  the  right 
size  for  the  pony  ballet,  but  the  work  is  pretty  hard ; 


THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE     113 

I  would  not  want  to  see  you  attempt  it.  You  are 
not  tall  enough  for  a  show  girl — the  Gibson  type  is 
all  the  rage  just  now — so "    He  paused, 

Ruth's  face  fell. 

"  So  I  think,"  he  went  on  deliberately,  "  that  we 
will  have  to  create  a  part  especially  for  you." 

"  A  part  especially  for  me ! "  cried  Ruth  in  as- 
tonishment. 

"  Oh,  that  is  not  as  important  as  it  sounds ! " 
he  hastened  to  say.  "  In  a  show  like  *  The  Parisian 
Milliner,'  which  I  am  putting  on  this  fall,  a  special 
part  means  only  that  we  introduce  a  few  new  songs, 
and  lines  enough  to  give  an  excuse  for  them." 

"  Do  you  mean  that  you  will  do  this  ?  "  she  asked, 
hardly  able  to  believe  her  ears. 

"  That  is  the  meaning  I  am  trying  to  convey. 
If  you  will  come  down  to  my  office  to-morrow  morn- 
ing at  ten,  I  will  tell  you  the  details.  Rehearsals 
will  begin  in  a  few  weeks  from  now." 

"  I  don't  know  how  I  can  thank  you " 

"  Don't  thank  me  at  all,"  he  interrupted.  "  It 
is  merely  a  matter  of  business.  I  think  that  your 
being  in  *  The  Parisian  Milliner '  will  improve  the 
show.  That's  all  there  is  to  it.  And  now,"  he 
went  on,  rising,  "  I  must  run  along.  I  just  dropped 
in  for  a  moment  to  see  you.  I  confess.  Miss  Law- 
son,  that  I  did  not  want  to  come.  Lory  and  Jack 
fairly  had  to  drag  me  here,  but  even  they  cannot 


114    THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE 

keep  me  away  now  that  I  have  seen  you.  It  may  be 
foolish — I  hope  it  is  not — but  I  feel  that  we  are 
to  be  good  friends." 

"  You  are  very  kind,"  answered  Ruth,  She  felt 
uncomfortable  in  the  face  of  his  open  admiration. 

"  Will  you  say  good-by  to  Lory  and  Jack  for 
me?  There  is  no  need  of  disturbing  them.  Till 
to-morrow  morning,"  he  said,  holding  out  his  hand. 

He  kept  Ruth's  hand  just  a  shade  longer  than 
the  Harbury  conventions  would  have  deemed 
proper;  then,  with  a  cheerful  good-night,  was 
gone.  Ruth  stood  where  he  had  left  her,  a  trifle  be- 
wildered by  her  sudden  good  fortune.  A  special 
part  in  "  The  Parisian  Milliner !  "  It  was  beyond 
her  wildest  dreams.  At  last  opportunity  had  knocked 
at  her  door  when  she  was  least  expecting  it,  and 
what  an  opportunity!  She  could  almost  see  her- 
self on  the  stage  receiving  the  applause  of  a  crowded 
house.  Exultation  surged  up  in  her  heart.  Then 
something  stirred  in  the  depths  of  her  soul,  the 
warning  of  a  woman's  intuition,  but  she  crushed 
it  almost  before  it  was  conceived.  There  had  been 
nothing  in  Rudolf's  manner  to  warrant  such  a  sus- 
picion. She  imagined  even  that  his  not  drinking 
was  meant  as  a  mark  of  respect  to  her. 

As  she  turned  toward  the  dining-room  to  tell 
Lory  the  good  news,  there  was  nothing  but  joy 
in  her  heart. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

When  Ruth  entered  the  dining-room,  Lory  was 
sitting  on  the  table,  swinging  her  feet,  and  smoking 
a  cigarette.  Jack  was  leaning  back  in  a  chair,  lazily 
smiling  at  something  she  was  telling  him  and 
puffing  contentedly  on  a  black  cigar.  As  Ruth  came 
through  the  door,  Jack  glanced  up. 

"  Where's  Rudy?  "  he  asked.  "  Did  his  ride  on 
the  water  wagon  kill  him,  or  did  he  talk  himself  to 
death  telling  you  of  his  successes?"  This  was  a 
standard  joke  of  Rudolf's  friends,  as  he  could  never 
be  led  to  talk  of  his  triumphs.  Jack  launched  it  joy- 
fully at  the  ears  of  the  unseen  target,  whom  he  sup- 
posed to  be  in  the  next  room. 

"  He's  gone,"  answered  Ruth.     "  He " 

"  Gone !  "  cried  Lory,  jumping  down  from  the 
table  and  facing  Ruth.    "You  didn't " 

"Oh,  Lory!"  interrupted  Ruth.  "You  can 
never  guess  what  he's  going  to  do  for  me.  He's 
going  to  give  me  a  special  part  in  '  The  Parisian 
Milliner.'    Just  think  of  it — a  special  part! " 

There  was  a  second's  silence,  in  which  a  glance 
passed  between  Jack  and  Lory.  Then  Lory  caught 
Ruth  in  her  arms.    "  Oh,  I'm  so  glad,"  she  said. 

"5 


ii6    THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE 

There  was  a  restraint  in  her  tone,  a  lack  of 
the  hearty  joy  which  Ruth  had  expected,  and  she 
felt  vaguely  wounded.  Jack's  congratulations,  too, 
seemed  forced.  Ruth  wondered  at  it  even  after 
she  went  to  her  room,  but  she  decided  that  no  one 
else  could  possibly  feel  about  her  success  the  way 
she  herself  did.  She  set  herself  to  looking  into 
the  future,  and  imagining  how  it  would  feel  to  be  an 
actress.  Her  thoughts  were  all  rose-tinted.  The 
air  castles,  which  had  been  leveled  to  the  earth  in 
the  last  few  months,  now  rose  in  doubled  splendor. 
She  settled  her  head  on  the  pillow,  once  more  de- 
ciding that  the  world  was  a  friendly  place,  after  all. 

In  the  dining-room,  after  Ruth  had  left.  Jack 
and  Lory  sat  in  a  silence  which  neither  seemed 
desirous  of  breaking. 

"Well?"  said  Jack  at  last. 

Lory  shook  her  head  helplessly.  "  I  had  hoped," 
she  said  with  a  trace  of  weariness  in  her  voice, 
"  that  Rudy  would  not  be  attracted,  and  yet  I  knew 
all  along  that  he  would.  She's  too  pretty,  that's 
what's  the  trouble,  Jack,  she's  too  pretty.  I 
thought,"  she  went  on  after  a  moment,  "  that  maybe 
he  would  give  her  a  part  in  the  chorus,  and  then 
I  thought — because  she  really  has  ability — that  she 
could  make  her  own  way.  But  this  special-part 
business  knocks  all  that  in  the  head.  Have  you 
tried  all  the  other  managers  you  know?  " 


THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE     117 

Jack  nodded.  **  The  city  is  literally  overrun  with 
chorus  girls.  There  are  twice  as  many  as  there 
are  places  for  them.  And,  of  course,  the  managers 
will  give  preference  to  those  who  have  experience. 
You  know  how  hard  it  was  to  get  Rudy  interested 
in  her.  To  get  him  to  see  her  at  all,  I  had  to  tell 
him  how  pretty  she  is.  That's  what  I  blame  myself 
for.    It  makes  me  feel  guilty  somehow." 

Again  there  was  a  silence. 

"  There's  no  use  talking  about  what  has  hap- 
pened. The  thing  for  us  to  do  is  to  decide  what 
is  best  to  be  done  now,"  Jack  said. 

"  Have  you  an  idea?  " 

"No.    Have  you?" 

Lory  shook  her  head.  "  The  kid  has  got  to  have 
money.  You  and  I  know  that  she  will  not  be  able 
to  get  any  job  that  will  give  her  enough  to  sup- 
port herself  and  send  money  home,  unless  it  is 
a  pretty  good  thing  on  the  stage.  I  counted  on 
her  getting  something  in  the  chorus  for  a  few 
months,  until  she  had  experience,  and  then  maybe 
something  better  would  turn  up.  In  the  meantime 
I  might  make  her  accept  a  loan  from  me  on  the 
strength  of  her  prospects." 

"  Can't  you  get  her  to  go  on  living  here  ?  You 
are  not  going  on  the  road  next  season.  I'd  be  will- 
ing to  put  up  the  money." 

"  She  would  not  do  it.    She  only  stays  now  be- 


ii8    THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE 

cause  I  keep  telling  her  that  in  the  fall  she  will 
get  a  position  on  the  stage,  and  then  can  pay  me 
back." 

Jack  looked  moodily  at  the  end  of  his  cigar.  "  I 
don't  like  it.  It's  too  much  like  a  trap;  she's  so 
plagued  innocent." 

"  Do  you  think  I  like  it  any  better  ?  "  retorted 
Lory.  "If  I  could  see  any  other  way  out  for 
the  kid,  I'd  take  it.  But  I've  been  thinking  this 
thing  over  for  days — ever  since  Rudolf  promised 
to  come,  and  I'm  all  in;  I  can't  think  of  a  thing." 

**  There's  one  thing  about  it,"  said  Jack  slowly. 
"  Rudy  will  give  her  a  good  send-off.  If  he  takes 
a  liking  to  a  girl,  he  isn't  niggardly.  And  then 
after  that  she  can  snap  her  fingers  at  him." 

"  That's  just  it.  She'll  make  a  hit.  I  am  as  sure 
of  it  as  I  am  that  I'm  sitting  here.  And  it  will 
mean  so  much  to  her.  On  the  other  hand,  sup- 
posing I  should  go  to  her  and  tell  her  what 
kind  of  a  man  Rudolf  is,  what  then?  She'd  turn 
him  down,  and  probably  would  insist  on  starting 
out  again  looking  for  a  job.  And  she  can't  get  one, 
Jack.    It's— it's  hell!" 

"  Maybe  she  will  kick  over  the  traces  at  the  last 
moment,  anyway." 

Lory  laughed  cynically.  "  Trust  Rudolf  for  that. 
He  has  sized  her  up  already.  Did  you  notice  that 
he  refused  to  drink  in  her  presence  to-night?     I 


THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE     119 

did  not  see  the  point  at  the  time,  but  now  I  know 
it  was  in  line  with  the  role  he  will  play.  He  will 
be,  oh!  so  respectful  and  kind  and  friendly,  until 
he  has  showed  her  what  success  on  the  stage  means, 
until  he  has  educated  her  to  luxury." 

"  That's  Rudy's  way,"  said  Jack  gloomily.  "  I 
used  to  think  him  clever.    God !  " 

"If  Ruth  were  like  most  of  the  girls  we  know, 
it  would  be  different.  Most  of  them  would  sell 
their  souls  for  a  chance  to  gain  Rudolf's  influence. 
If  she  has  any  sort  of  ability,  and  I  know  she  has, 
she'll  be  a  star  in  a  few  years.  Then,  if  she  were 
like  most  of  them,  she  would  thank  us  for  not 
having  interfered." 

"  But  in  her  case " 

"  That's  it.    She's  different." 

"  Maybe,"  said  Jack  with  an  undertone  of  hope 
in  his  voice,  "  Rudy  will  run  straight  with  her. 
Maybe  he  will  see  that  she  is  different,  and  respect 
her  for  it.  He  has  been  thrown  in  with  a  fast  crowd, 
and  is  pretty  rotten,  as  we  all  are,  but  there's  prob- 
ably a  lot  of  good  in  him.  He  may  fall  in  love 
with  her,  and  marry  her.  Stranger  things  have 
happened." 

"  I've  never  told  you  before,  because  I  did  not 
want  it  to  get  around,  but  she  is  already  married, 
Jack." 

"  What?    Where's  her  husband  then?  " 


120    THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE 

Lory  told  him  the  details  of  the  case  in  a  few 
words. 

Jack  was  silent  when  she  finished. 

"  So  you  see,"  said  Lory,  "  she's  got  to  h^ve 
money.  There's  no  use  talking  about  what  she 
ought  to  do,  or  the  right  thing  to  do.  There  isn't 
anything  she  can  do  but  get  money.  It's  the  old 
story.  People  talk  about  morals  and  all  that,  but 
when  you  come  right  down  to  the  bottom  of  the 
question,  you  find  that  money  is  the  basis  of  the 
whole  thing.  You  can't  live  without  money,  and 
there  isn't  anyone  who's  going  to  give  it  to  you. 
Ruth  isn't  the  only  girl  that's  been  up  against  that 
proposition." 

"  Then  you  don't  think  you  could  induce  her 
to  stay  here  with  you,  and  cook  up  some  excuse  for 
paying  her  a  salary  ?  " 

"  It's  awfully  good  of  you.  Jack,  but  I  know  she 
wouldn't  do  it." 

"  Then  the  only  thing  we  can  do  is  to  let  things 
drift,  and  hope  that  something  will  turn  up." 

"  We  can  hope,"  said  Lory  with  a  trace  of  bit- 
terness in  her  voice,  "  but  things  don't  usually  turn 
up  that  way." 

All  that  night  Lory  lay  awake  trying  to  devise 
some  plan  by  which  Ruth  might  escape  from  Ben- 
jamin Rudolf's  influence,  but  she  could  find  no 
way  out  of  the  dilemma.    On  the  one  side  rose,  as 


THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE     121 

a  barrier,  poverty,  and  Ruth  was  in  dire  need  of 
money ;  on  the  other  hand — she  did  not  hke  to  think 
of  it. 

At  first,  when  she  had  come  to  live  with  her.  Lory 
had  thought  some  of  Ruth's  innocence  was  affec- 
tation. It  was  hard  for  Lory  to  reahze,  reared  as 
she  had  been  in  the  midst  of  certain  conditions,  how 
anyone  could  be  ignorant  of  them,  nor  could  she 
understand  the  fineness  of  feeling  which  made  Ruth 
color  up  at  things  which  seemed  commonplace  to 
her.  But  as  time  passed  Lory  came  to  the  conclu- 
sion that  Ruth  was  sincere  and  good,  with  a  deli- 
cacy of  nature  which  Lory  must  respect  even  if 
she  did  not  understand.  And,  strangely  enough, 
the  very  quality  which  Lory  would  have  condemned 
in  other  girls  as  prudery  drew  her  closer  to  Ruth. 
Now  she  would  have  given  anything  she  possessed 
to  shield  her  friend  from  the  temptations  and  vil- 
lainy of  the  world.  There  may  have  been  some 
way;  some  plan  might  have  been  devised  to  avert 
the  peril;  but  Lory  did  not  know  of  any.  She 
tossed  and  turned  until  daylight  shone  through  her 
window,  but  she  was  as  far  away  from  a  solution 
as  she  had  been  the  previous  night. 

So  in  the  end  she  decided  that  all  she  could  do 
was  to  help  make  the  success  so  big  that,  if  the 
price  were  high,  still  there  would  be  something 
to  be  said  on  the  other  side. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

Rudolf  turned  toward  the  elevated  station.  He 
had  an  engagement  to  meet  a  couple  of  friends  at 
Morini's.  His  thoughts  were  occupied  with  the 
girl  he  had  just  left.  He  felt  she  would  do  well 
on  the  stage,  and  not  in  years  had  he  met  a  woman 
who  attracted  him  so  much.  Her  petite  daintiness 
pleased  him,  her  ethereal  beauty  stirred  him  to  the 
depths  of  his  being.  And  then  there  was  something 
about  her — something  he  vaguely  realized  but  could 
not  understand. 

"  I'll  give  her  a  chance,"  he  told  himself.  "  From 
what  I  have  heard,  she  has  had  a  pretty  hard 
time." 

Benjamin  Rudolf  was,  to  a  certain  extent,  the 
product  of  his  environment.  If  one  sets  a  child  in 
the  midst  of  a  swamp,  one  does  not  wonder  if 
the  child  becomes  dirty,  nor  should  it  cause  sur- 
prise that  Rudolf,  thrown  into  daily  contact  with 
a  type — or  perhaps  it  would  be  as  accurate  to  say, 
attracting  to  himself  a  type — to  whom  the  honor  of 
a  woman  is  a  joke,  should  come  to  look  on  it  as 
a  matter  of  small  moment. 

In  the  present  case  he  regarded  himself  as  a 

122 


THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE     123 

benefactor.  He  had  found  Ruth  penniless;  he 
would  give  her  comparative  wealth.  He  had  found 
her  unknown;  he  would  develop  her  into  a  star 
and  make  her  name  famous  in  every  city  in  the 
country.  He  felt  sorry  for  her,  that  she  had  met 
with  so  much  adversity  since  coming  to  New  York, 
and  was  glad  that  it  lay  in  his  power  to  make  her 
lot  in  life  easier.  He  would  do  his  best  to  help  her 
succeed  on  the  stage. 

Yet  such  was  his  accustomed  trend  of  thought, 
and  he  was  one  of  a  large  class  of  men,  that  it 
did  not  occur  to  him,  except  in  a  vague  way,  that 
he  might  do  all  this  for  nothing.  He  accepted  the 
price  as  a  matter  of  course — ^looked  upon  it  in 
the  light  of  an  ordinary  business  bargain.  That 
he  contemplated  doing  a  woman  an  injury  for 
which  nothing  could  atone,  never  once  entered  his 
mind.  He  knew  that  she  would  object  to  paying 
the  price.  He  knew  that  he  would  have  to  lay  his 
plans  carefully  to  induce  her  to  enter  into  the 
agreement.  He  felt,  even  on  such  short  acquaint- 
ance, that  she  was  one  of  the  few  women  he  knew 
who  did  not  look  lightly  on  this  sort  of  thing,  but 
he  viewed  the  matter  in  much  the  same  light  as  a 
business  man  would,  who  tries  to  induce  another 
to  take  up  a  proposition  desirable  for  them  both, 
even  if  he  has  to  argue  the  other  into  it  against 
his  will.    Had  anyone  told  him  that  he  was  guilty 


124    THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE 

of  the  deepest  villainy,  he  would  have  been  sur- 
prised and  indignant,  and  would  have  defended 
himself  by  saying  that  he  was  no  worse  than  other 
men,  that  it  was  impossible  for  a  poor  girl  to  get 
along  in  New  York  without  a  "  protector,"  and 
what  difference  did  it  make  whether  it  were  he  or 
some  other  man?  If  his  accuser  denounced  him  for 
deliberately  laying  a  trap  to  ensnare  a  woman, 
against  her  will,  he  would  have  replied  that  he  was 
giving  her  a  fair  return,  and  that  the  day  would 
come  when  she  would  see  it  in  that  light,  even  if 
she  did  not  at  first. 

Rudolf  walked  along  smiling  to  himself,  well 
pleased  that  chance  had  thrown  Ruth  in  his  way. 
Once  he  chuckled  at  the  recollection  of  his  refus- 
ing to  drink.  "  That  was  the  right  line  to  take," 
he  told  himself.    "  I'll  stick  to  it." 

When  he  reached  Morini's,  the  two  men  whom  he 
was  to  meet  were  already  there.  These  two  were 
always  together.  Ned  Redburn  was  a  short,  jolly, 
little  man,  whose  fat  face  was  wrinkled  by  much 
laughter,  for  he  looked  upon  the  whole  world  as 
a  joke,  and  himself  as  the  biggest  joke  of  all. 
Franklin  Morris  was  of  a  more  sober  turn  of  mind, 
and,  had  circumstances  been  otherwise,  he  would 
have  used  his  unusually  keen  mind  to  some  advan- 
tage, but  he  had  been  born  rich,  and  a  natural 
apathy  of  disposition  prevented  him  from  being 


THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE     125 

anything  but  an  idler.  Both  men,  in  fact,  lived 
merely  for  pleasure,  both  were  members  of  that 
mysterious  class  vaguely  known  as  "  men  about 
town,"  and  both  had  been  in  love  with  the  same 
woman.  It  had  worried  them,  at  the  time  of  their 
desperate  infatuation  for  Margaret  Livingstone,  to 
think  that  when  she  married  one  of  them — each 
was  equally  sure  it  would  be  the  other — their  friend- 
ship might  be,  to  a  certain  extent,  broken  up.  But 
she  had  settled  the  matter,  happily  for  herself,  by 
marrying  neither,  but  instead  an  earnest  young 
worker  in  the  world  of  affairs.  This  common  sor- 
row had  drawn  them  even  closer  together,  until 
now  they  were  happy  only  when  in  each  other's 
company. 

As  usual,  Redburn  was  in  the  midst  of  the  re- 
cital of  a  huge  joke  in  which  he  had  figured. 

"  The  funniest  thing  I  ever  heard  of,"  he  de- 
clared rapturously.  "  There  was  I  without  a  cent — 
I'd  bet  my  last  penny  on  the  sixth  race — and  I 
couldn't  find  a  man  I  knew  in  the  whole  crowd. 
Thought  sure  it  was  a  case  of  walk  home  for  me, 
and " 

"  So  that's  your  idea  of  a  joke,  is  it  ?  "  commented 
Rudolf,  dropping  into  a  chair.  "  I  don't  think  I 
would  enjoy  that  particular  brand." 

"  Oh,  hello,  Rudy !  Thought  you'd  eloped. 
What'll  you  have  to  drink?  " 


126    THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE 

Rudolf  gave  his  order.  "  Go  on  with  the  joke. 
Did  you  have  to  walk  home  ?  " 

"  Wait  till  you  hear.  Well,  as  I  was  saying,  I 
didn't  have  a  red  cent  and  I  couldn't  find  a  friend 
to  touch.  Why,  any  other  time  I'd  seen  thousands 
of  'em — positively  thousands — but  nary  a  one  when 
I  wanted  'em.  But  at  last  I  did  see  a  fellow  I 
sort  of  half  knew — used  to  see  him  over  at  the 
yards  when  I  was  having  the  yacht  overhauled — ■ 
so  I  went  up  to  him  and  asked  him  for  a  loan. 
What  do  you  think  he  said  ?  " 

He  leaned  back  in  anticipated  joy  at  the  others* 
inability  to  guess. 

"  Oh,  hurry  up,  Ned,  get  it  over  with !  "  said 
Morris  impatiently.  "  What's  the  use  of  being 
so  painfully  long-winded?" 

Redburn  was  not  a  bit  abashed  by  his  friend's 
lack  of  appreciation;  he  was  used  to  it.  That  was 
one  strange  feature  of  their  friendship;  they  al- 
ways irritated  each  other. 

"  What  do  you  guess,  Rudy  ?  " 

"  I  guess  he  told  you  to  go  to  the  devil,  as  I 
should  have." 

"The  very  thing!"  cried  Redburn  joyfully. 
"  He  told  me  to  go  to  the  devil,  and  I  banged  him 
one,  and  the  coppers  had  to  pull  us  apart.  I'd  'a' 
got  arrested,  too,  if  there  hadn't  been  a  copper  I 
knew  in  the  bunch.    I  told  him  about  it,  and  he  let 


THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE    127 

me  go,  and  lent  me  enough  money  to  buy  a  ticket 
home.  I  offered  him  a  V  if  he'd  lock  the  other 
fellow  up — just  for  a  joke,  you  know — ^but  he 
wouldn't." 

"  Probably  knew  he'd  never  get  the  V,"  sug- 
gested Rudolf  dryly. 

"  Maybe  that  was  the  trouble,"  assented  Ned. 
"  Say,  that  reminds  me  of  a  story " 

*'  For  Heaven's  sake,  Ned,"  cut  in  Morris, 
"  aren't  you  going  to  let  Rudy  and  me  get  a  word 
in  edgewise  all  evening?  This  isn't  a  monologue 
act,  you  know.  What  have  you  been  up  to, 
Rudy?" 

"  Been  calling  on  a  friend  of  Lory's  who  wants 
to  go  on  the  stage." 

"Not  that  girl  who's  staying  with  her?"  de- 
manded Ned,  uneclipsed  by  his  friend's  admoni- 
tion. 

Rudolf  nodded. 

"  Then  you'll  be  able  to  appreciate  the  greatest 
joke  ever.  Morry  and  I  were  up  there  the  other 
night  with  Jack,  and — say,  isn't  she  a  little  peach! 
Did  you  ever  see  such  tiny  hands  and  feet  on  any- 
thing but  a  baby?    And  talk  about  eyes " 

"  Let's  have  the  story,"  interrupted  Rudolf. 
"  You  can  cut  out  the  description ;  we  have  all  seen 
her." 

"  Well,  as  she  was  living  with  Lory,  I  thought 


128    THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE 

she  was  a  little  Bohemian,  you  know;  so,  after  I'd 
had  a  couple  of  highballs,  I  started  to  put  my  arm 
around  her.  Gad,  you  ought  to  have  seen  the  look 
she  gave  me.  I'd  'a'  crawled  under  the  sofa  if  I 
hadn't  been  so  fat." 

"  Too  bad  you  couldn't,"  said  Morris  sarcas- 
tically. "  You  ought  to  have  your  fat  head  punched. 
Anyone  with  half  an  eye  could  see  that  she  wouldn't 
stand  for  that  kind  of  thing." 

"  Say,  Rudy,"  said  Redburn,  ignoring  his  friend's 
criticism,  "  I've  been  wondering  whether  she  knows 
about  Lory  and  Jack." 

Rudolf  fingered  his  glass  a  moment  before  reply- 
ing. "  Of  course  I  don't  know,  but,  from  what 
Jack  has  told  me,  I  rather  think  she  does  not.  She 
is  from  the  country — down  in  New  England  some- 
where— and  I  wouldn't  be  a  bit  surprised  if  she  did 
not  know  of  the — er — existing  conditions." 

"  How  does  she  come  to  be  living  with  a  girl 
like  Lory  ?  "  asked  Morris  earnestly. 

"  She  was  sick,  I  believe,  and  Lory  found  her, 
and  took  her  home.  I  guess  the  girl  found  New 
York  a  pretty  stiff  proposition  to  handle.  She 
came  here  to  earn  her  living,  and  pretty  nearly 
starved  to  death." 

"What's  she  going  to  do  now?"  asked  Morris. 
"  Is  she  going  to  live  with  Lory  right  along?  " 

"  Why,  I  think  I'll  look  after  her  myself.     I'm 


THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE     129 

going  to  give  her  a  special  part  in  '  The  Parisian 
Milliner.'  " 

"  Good  for  you,  Rudy !  "  exclaimed  Redburn.  "  I 
know  you'll  give  her  a  good  send-off,  and  me  for 
the  bald-headed  row  the  first  night." 

But  Morris  did  not  echo  his  friend's  enthusiasm. 
He  looked  sharply  at  Rudolf,  then  dropped  his  eyes, 
and  frowned  at  his  glass. 

Rudolf  regarded  him  with  an  amused  smile.  Yet 
a  moment  later  the  three  men  were  deeply  engrossed 
in  a  discussion  as  to  the  comparative  merits  of  two 
well-known  pugilists  who  were  to  meet  in  the  ring 
in  a  few  days. 


CHAPTER  XV 

Whether  it  was  because  of  the  supper  at  Morini's 
or  the  heat  of  the  August  night,  Rudolf  did  not 
know,  but  at  any  rate  he  lay  awake  long  after  he 
had  retired.  And  all  the  time  he  was  thinking  of 
Ruth.    When  he  at  last  fell  asleep  he  had  a  dream. 

He  dreamed  that  he  and  she  were  walking  through 
a  pine  forest,  he  could  smell  the  fresh,  clean  odor 
of  the  trees,  could  see  the  clear  blue  of  the  sky 
between  their  tall  tops,  could  hear  the  soft  sigh- 
ing of  the  wind  among  their  branches.  He  felt  his 
heart  beat  with  a  new,  pure  emotion.  He  felt 
the  power  of  a  mighty  passion,  such  as  he  had  never 
known,  surging  through  his  veins.  He  was  filled 
with  an  irresistible  longing,  not  for  his  own,  but  for 
her  happiness.  The  desire  to  protect  her  from  the 
world,  from  himself,  if  need  be,  burned  deep  into 
his  heart.  With  these  feelings  came  another — rev- 
erence for  a  woman.  He  trembled  in  his  unworthi- 
ness,  and  his  tongue  refused  the  words  of  love  that 
rushed  up  from  his  breast.  While  he  hesitated  the 
vision  faded,  and  he  awoke. 

But  the  impression  of  the  dream  remained.     An 
unaccustomed  shame  swept  over  him.     For  an  in- 

130 


THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE    131 

stant  he  knew  himself  as  he  really  was.  Then  he 
angrily  shook  off  the  feeling,  and  strove  to  restore 
his  thoughts  to  their  normal  trend,  but  in  this  en- 
deavor he  was  not  entirely  successful.  He  ate  his 
breakfast  with  a  strangely  dissatisfied  feeling,  and 
instead  of  riding  to  his  office  in  his  car,  as  was  his 
custom,  walked  down,  thinking  to  overcome  the 
strange  condition  of  his  nerves.  And  this  he  suc- 
ceeded in  doing  to  a  certain  extent,  but  whenever  he 
thought  of  Ruth  the  dream  impression  took  the 
place  of  the  feeling  he  had  held  toward  her  the 
night  before.  Not  that  Rudolf  was  in  love,  he  was 
far  from  it.  He  would  have  repudiated  the  dream 
feeling  if  he  could;  his  waking  consciousness  did 
not  endorse  it  in  the  least,  but  still,  in  his  subcon- 
scious mentality,  there  remained  certain  sensations 
which  the  dream  had  called  into  life.  It  was  these 
of  which,  try  as  he  might,  he  could  not  rid  him- 
self. 

When  he  arrived  at  the  office,  he  found  his  part- 
ner in  a  state  of  excitement,  but,  as  that  was  not  an 
uncommon  condition  with  Sam  Andrews,  he  did 
not  attach  any  importance  to  the  phenomenon. 
Samuel  Andrews  was  one  of  the  men  who  worry 
through  life.  If  he  had  real  troubles,  he  fretted 
himself  almost  into  a  state  of  nervous  prostration, 
and,  if  he  had  no  real  troubles,  he  invented  imagi- 
nary ones  and  hugged  them  tightly  to  his  bosom. 


132    THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE 

His  flabby  countenance  was  almost  always  creased 
in  lines  of  vexation,  and  his  pale  blue  eyes  con- 
stantly wore  a  frightened  expression,  as  if  he  sus- 
pected Fate  of  being  about  to  overwhelm  him. 

"  Good-morning,  Sam,"  said  Rudolf  gravely  to 
that  corpulent  individual.  "  If  you  don't  stop  wor- 
rying, you'll  get  thin.  I  had  an  old  aunt  who  used 
to  fuss  around  like  you  do,  and  she  became  thin 
as  a  rail.  What  is  the  trouble  now?  Has  the  Pro- 
hibition movement  been  gaining  ground,  or  is  there 
a  strike  of  the  *  Chorus  Ladies'  Union  '  ?  " 

"  There's  hell  to  pay,"  responded  Sam,  holding 
out  a  letter  in  his  shaking  hand.  "  Tessie  Darling- 
ton wants  to  be  released  from  her  contract.  She 
says  she's  going  to  be  married  and  retire  from  the 
stage.  How  in  the  devil  are  we  to  find  another 
Sylvia  at  this  late  day  ?  " 

Rudolf  took  the  letter,  and  scanned  its  many 
pages.  It  was  a  request,  as  Sam  had  stated,  that 
she  be  released  from  her  contract  to  play  Sylvia, 
the  leading  part  in  "  The  Parisian  Milliner."  Be- 
tween the  lines  Rudolf  read  that,  if  she  were  not 
released,  she  would  make  things  as  uncomfortable 
for  everyone  concerned  as  she  possibly  could.  Ru- 
dolf decided  that,  in  this  case,  Sam  had  some  cause 
for  worry.  The  whole  play  centered  on  that  part; 
with  a  Sylvia  who  would  appeal  to  the  public,  the 
show  would  be  a  success;  otherwise,  it  would  be 


THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE     133 

characterized,  as  indeed  it  was,  a  bundle  of  non- 
sense with  music  clearly  reminiscent  of  many  other 
productions  of  late  years. 

He  finished  the  letter,  and  leaned  back  in  his 
chair,  holding  up  an  impatient  hand  to  forestall 
another  outburst  from  his  partner.  And  then,  in  a 
second,  a  plan  leaped  into  his  mind,  a  plan  so 
fantastic,  so  utterly  opposed  to  his  business  instinct, 
his  managerial  experience,  that  he  thought  he  must 
be  mad  to  think  of  it.  But  the  thought  was  per- 
sistent. Then  came  the  question,  why  not?  He 
tried  to  array  all  the  facts  pro  and  con  in  his  mind, 
but  they  refused  to  be  so  arrayed.  He  could  think 
of  only  the  one  overshadowing  demand  of  this 
strange  conception — Ruth  Lawson  should  be  Syl- 
via! Already  in  his  mind's  eye  he  saw  her,  dainty 
and  demure,  with  the  beauty  of  a  flower,  tripping 
through  the  umbrella  dance,  or  lifting  her  sweet- 
toned  soprano  in  the  Violet  song.  He  could  hear 
the  applause  of  the  enraptured  audience,  and,  as  he 
had  the  money  instinct  of  his  race,  could  imagine 
the  size  of  the  box-office  receipts.  Yes;  why  not? 
She  could  sing  well — he  knew  that — and  he  trusted 
Lory's  judgment  about  her  dancing,  and  Lory  had 
said  Ruth  was  the  most  graceful  dancer  she  had 
ever  seen.  Indeed,  he  knew  that  she  must  be.  The 
acting  amounted  to  very  little;  he  could  teach  her 
that.     He  felt  that  she  would  do  that  well,  also. 


134    THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE 

Yes;  Ruth  Lawson  should  be  Sylvia.  Yet  he  would 
do  nothing  rash.  He  would  try  her  in  the  part  at 
a  rehearsal.  If  she  failed,  he  would  have  to  hold 
Tessie  Darlington  to  her  contract. 

And  then,  in  an  instant,  he  had  mapped  out  a 
scheme  of  advertising.  He  would  publish  the  fact 
abroad  that  he  had  discovered  a  comedienne  of  such 
extraordinary  ability  that  he,  Benjamin  Rudolf,  who 
had  never  yet  put  on  a  failure,  was  willing  to  stake 
his  reputation  on  her  success,  although  she  had  never 
been  on  the  stage  in  her  life.  He  would  have  his 
press  agent  work  up  a  romantic  story  about  the 
little  country  girl  who  came  to  New  York.  He 
would  dilate  on  her  hardships,  her  sickness,  and 
finally  her  elevation  to  a  star  in  a  Broadway  pro- 
duction at  one  bound.  The  public's  curiosity  would 
be  whetted.  They  would  flock  to  the  theater.  It 
would  be  the  greatest  sensation  ever  known  in  the- 
atrical circles.    Unconsciously  he  smiled. 

"  I'd  like  to  know  what  you  find  so  very  funny 
about  it,"  demanded  Sam  angrily. 

Rudolf  had  forgotten  his  partner's  presence.  He 
turned  with  a  start.  Then  a  boyish  desire  to  shock 
Sam  came  over  him.  He  could  imagine  his  part- 
ner's consternation  at  the  news.  He  tipped  his  chair 
back,  and  put  the  points  of  his  fingers  together, 
looking  at  his  partner  with  an  expression  of  care- 
less good  humor. 


THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE    135 

"  You  need  not  worry  about  Tessie  Darlington. 
I  know  a  young  woman  who  will  make  a  far  better 
Sylvia  than  she." 

Sam's  face  showed  relief.  Then  the  worry  sprang 
again  into  his  eyes. 

"  Tell  me  who  she  is,"  he  exclaimed  excitedly, 
"  so  that  I  can  go  to  her  right  off  with  the  con- 
tract. Some  one  may  snap  her  up  while  we  are 
fooling  around  here." 

Rudolf  smiled  calmly.  "  I  scarcely  think  she  will 
be  snapped  up  before  ten  o'clock,  at  which  hour 
I  have  an  appointment  with  her  here.  In  fact,"  he 
went  on  slowly,  his  eyes  on  the  other's  face,  "  I 
doubt  if  there  is  another  manager  in  New  York 
who  would  want  her.  You  see,  this  young  woman 
has  never  been  on  the  stage  in  her  life." 

Sam's  eyes  bulged  out.  "  Is  this  a  joke,  or  are 
you  crazy — or  drunk  ?  " 

"  I  didn't  mean   it  as  a  joke,   and  I  am  not 

drunk.    As  to  being  crazy "    He  shrugged  his 

shoulders. 

"  Do  you  mean  to  tell  me  that  you  are  thinking 
of  putting  an  amateur  on  to  play  Sylvia?"  de- 
manded Sam  in  a  choked  voice. 

"  That's  about  it." 

"  My  God !    You  are  crazy." 

"  Not  at  all,"  returned  Rudolf  easily.  "  I  am 
gifted  with  second  sight,  that's  all.    I  see  her  bring- 


136    THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE 

ing  down  the  house,  and  bringing  in  the  money. 
I  have  heard  her  sing,  I  have  been  told  by  one  on 
whose  judgment  I  can  rely  that  she  is  a  graceful 
dancer,  and  she  is  as  pretty  as  a  picture.  It  is 
enough.  She  will  make  a  hit.  But  to  quiet  your 
nerves,  which  seem  to  be  a  little  disordered  this 
morning,  you  may  write  to  Tessie,  and  tell  her 
that  we  shall  do  our  best  to  fill  her  place,  but,  fail- 
ing that,  we  will  be  obliged  to  hold  her  to  her 
contract.  Put  in  the  usual  felicitations  on  her  ap- 
proaching marriage  and  be  careful  not  to  make 
the  letter  sound  like  a  threat.  Tessie  is  easy  to 
handle  if  you  coax  her,  but  if  you  try  to  drive 
her — well,  she  is  the  devil.  Now  supposing  you 
run  out  and  get  a  drink  before  you  go  all  to  pieces 
and  get  to  writhing  on  the  floor." 

Sam  waddled  out,  a  ludicrous  look  of  conster- 
nation on  his  fat  face,  muttering  to  himself,  and 
shaking  his  head  dolefully.  He  saw  ruin  staring 
the  firm  of  Rudolf  and  Andrews  in  the  face.  Not 
that  one  failure,  or  even  two  or  three,  could  accom- 
plish the  downfall  of  so  wealthy  and  influential  a 
firm,  but  if  Rudolf  was  losing  his  grip  this  way 

After  Sam  had  left,  Rudolf  turned  to  his  desk, 
but  not  to  work.  His  letters  lay  unopened  while 
he  traced  designs  on  the  blotting  pad. 

Rudolf  had  lightly  told  his  partner  that  he  was 
gifted  with  second  sight.    As  a  matter  of  fact,  he 


THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE     137 

was  endowed,  as  are  so  many  of  his  race,  with  a 
rare  intuition.  A  great  part  of  his  business  suc- 
cess was  the  result  of  this  characteristic.  He  had 
done  things  almost  as  daring  as  this  before;  Tes- 
sie  Darlington  herself  he  had  discovered  in  the 
chorus  of  a  burlesque  show,  and,  after  trying  her 
for  one  season  in  a  minor  part,  had  launched  her 
as  a  star.  The  critics  had  backed  up  his  judgment. 
Besides,  Rudolf  was  a  great  believer  in  the 
power  of  advertising.  He  would  make  the  pub- 
lic think  they  were  to  be  startled  into  astonished 
admiration,  and  the  chances  were,  a  thousand  to 
one,  that  they  would  be.  He  knew  that  there  were 
many  comic-opera  stars  on  the  stage  who  were 
not  nearly  so  pretty  as  Ruth,  who  had  not  half  the 
voice  she  possessed,  and  were  surely  not  as  grace- 
ful in  dancing  as  he  knew  she  must  be,  yet  they 
drew  crowds  year  after  year  through  the  merit  of 
advertising.  And,  then,  the  part  fitted  Ruth  as  if 
it  had  been  written  for  her.  Sylvia,  the  little  Pari- 
sian milliner,  about  whom  the  play  was  woven, 
was  just  another  such  girl  as  Ruth.  Now,  after 
he  had  thought  of  them  as  one,  he  could  hardly 
keep  the  real  Ruth  separate  in  his  mind  from  the 
Sylvia  of  the  fiction.  He  was  sure  that  she  would 
measure  up  to  his  judgment,  that  she  would  be  a  suc- 
cess. Already  he  had  almost  dismissed  the  thought, 
that  Tessie  might  have  to  take  the  part  after  all. 


138    THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE 

from  his  mind.  He  realized  that  he  had  arrived 
at  a  decision  at  one  jump,  when  it  would  take  most 
men  months  of  consideration  to  come  to  the  point 
of  being  willing  to  put  an  unknown  and  inexperi- 
enced woman  on  the  stage  as  a  star.  Yet  he  be- 
lieved his  judgment  to  be  sound  enough  to  warrant 
the  experiment  on  strictly  business  grounds.  Yet 
deep  in  his  heart  was  another  motive,  and  it  was 
this  motive  which  influenced  him  more  than  any- 
other,  although  he  did  not  realize  it.  The  dream 
had  awakened  a  desire  to  shower  all  the  good  things 
of  the  world  on  the  girl.  To  give  her  merely  a 
fair  part,  and  gradually  lead  her  up  to  success,  was 
not  now  enough.  He  was  impatient  to  see  her  at 
the  top,  enthroned  in  luxury,  wealth,  and  power. 
He  was  anxious  that  she  know  it  was  he  who  had 
done  all  this  for  her.  She  must  feel  that  she  owed 
everything  to  him,  and  it  would  be  strange  if,  when 
she  did  realize  all  this,  she  would  not  feel  a  grati- 
tude that  was  akin  to  love.  And  if  he  did  all  this 
for  her — if,  at  the  risk  of  a  great  money  loss,  to 
say  nothing  of  impaired  prestige,  he  was  willing 
to  do  this — surely  the  return  he  would  ask  was  very 
small. 

Thus  he  reasoned,  and  by  such  devious  argu- 
ments he  justified  his  course  and  succeeded  in  qui- 
eting, for  the  time  being,  the  outcries  of  a  conscience 
which  had  been  reawakened  by  the  dream. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

When  Ruth  awoke  the  next  morning,  she  won- 
dered for  a  moment  why  she  was  so  happy.  Then 
she  remembered.  She  sprang  out  of  bed  and  has- 
tened into  Lory's  room. 

"  Wake  up !  "  she  cried  gayly,  shaking  her. 

Lory  opened  her  eyes.  "  What's  the  matter  ?  " 
she  asked  sleepily. 

"  A  great  actress  has  come  to  see  you.  Hurry 
and  get  up." 

"  Who?  "  demanded  Lory,  starting  up. 

"  Why,  me !  Don't  you  remember  ?  I'm  to  be 
a  *  footlight  favorite.'  Just  think  of  it.  Lory, 
dear !  "    She  laughed  joyously. 

"  Oh — you !  "  answered  Lory  in  pretended  dis- 
dain. "  I  thought  maybe  Sara  Bernhardt  had 
dropped  in  to  borrow  some  money.  But  you're  all 
right,  kid.  I  knew,  if  he  heard  you  sing,  it'd  be 
you  for  the  boards." 

So  Lory  answered  jestingly,  although  there  was 
a  dull  pain  at  her  heart.  Yet  she  was  somewhat 
of  a  philosopher.  She  had  decided  that  she  could 
do  nothing;  there  was  no  use  of  worrying.  Maybe 
things  would  straighten  themselves  out  somehow. 

139 


I40    THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE 

"  You're  in  luck,  kid.  You've  got  a  great 
chance.    Rudolf  will  make  your  fortune." 

"  If  he  does,  you  deserve  half."  She  sat  down 
on  the  bed,  and  became  serious.  "  I  owe  it  all  to 
you.  I  often  shudder  to  think  what  would  have 
become  of  me  if  you  had  not  been  so  kind.  And 
I  was  a  perfect  stranger  to  you,  yet  you  brought 
me  home.  Why,  for  all  you  knew,  I  might  have 
been — anything !  " 

Lory  drew  her  down  and  kissed  her  impulsively. 
"  I'd  take  the  risk  of  your  being — '  anything,'  " 
she  mimicked,  "  What  time  are  you  going  down 
to  see  Rudy?" 

"  At  ten  o'clock,  I  hope  he  hasn't  changed  his 
mind." 

"  No  danger,"  answered  Lory,  although  she  al- 
most wished  he  had. 

"  I  can't  imagine  why  he  offered  me  such  a  good 
position.  There  must  be  lots  of  girls  who  are  ever 
so  much  more  clever  than  I  am.  Why,  he  doesn't 
even  know  whether  I  can  dance  or  not." 

"Oh,  I  told  him  that!  I  told  him  that,  if  he 
gave  you  a  job,  you'd  make  good,  all  right." 

"  I  hope  I  can.  Oh,  I  do  hope  I  won't  disap- 
point him ! " 

Lory  laughed  dryly. 

"  Why  do  you  laugh  like  that  ?  "  Ruth  demanded 
uneasily. 


THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE     141 

"  Because  you're  so  blamed  modest,"  answered 
Lory  evasively. 

Ruth  went  back  into  her  own  room  to  dress, 
and  Lory  relapsed  into  thought.  She  was  over- 
joyed to  see  Ruth  so  happy.  Indeed,  she  could 
hardly  believe  that  she  was  the  same  girl,  and,  if 
just  the  anticipation  of  success  could  produce  such 
a  change,  was  not  the  real  thing  itself  worth  a  great 
deal?  Perhaps  Ruth  would  come  to  look  at  it  in 
that  light  herself.  She  was  glad  that  she  had  not 
yielded  to  the  impulse  to  warn  Ruth.  She  already 
felt  a  little  ashamed  of  her  heroics — thus  she  la- 
beled her  conversation  with  Jack,  of  the  previous 
night.  Now,  in  the  light  of  Ruth's  evidently  high 
estimate  of  her  good  fortune,  things  did  not  seem 
so  bad,  after  all.  She  settled  down  for  another 
nap  with  a  calmer  and  more  hopeful  mind.  She 
was  soon  disturbed  again  by  Ruth's  voice  from  the 
other  room : 

"Lor-ree!    What  dress  shall  I  wear?" 

**  Oh,  any  one — ^that  old  brown  one  will  be  good 
enough ! " 

An  exclamation  of  disgust  reached  Lory's  ears, 
and  she  chuckled.  "  The  kid's  waking  up,"  she  said 
to  herself. 

And  Lory  was  right.  The  sudden  good  fortune, 
following  on  the  heels  of  so  many  adversities,  rolled 
back  to  the  span  of  Ruth's  life,  and  blotted  out 


142    THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE 

the  past  year  of  misery.  Her  self-esteem  had  been 
restored,  and  with  it  had  come  her  native  high 
spirits.  She  sang  happily  to  herself  as  she 
dressed. 

The  clock  on  the  wall  of  Rudolf's  office  was  strik- 
ing ten  when  Ruth's  name  was  announced. 

"  Show  her  in  at  once,"  he  said  to  the  young 
woman  who  brought  the  information. 

She  hesitated.  "  That  letter  from  Dresier  and 
Company  came  this  morning.  Did  you  notice  it  ?  " 
She  glanced  meaningly  at  the  pile  of  unopened 
mail. 

"  It  can  wait,"  answered  Rudolf  impatiently. 
"  Show  Miss  Lawson  in." 

The  young  woman  obeyed,  casting  a  curious 
glance  at  the  girl  who  could  make  Benjamin  Ru- 
dolf put  aside  business. 

Ruth  was  attired  in  a  white-duck  suit  with  a 
broad  sailor  collar.  Her  hair  was  gathered  in  a 
simple  knot  on  the  nape  of  her  neck.  She  looked 
indescribably  pretty  and  girlish. 

"  You  see,  I  am  on  time,  Mr.  Rudolf,"  she  said, 
smiling  brightly. 

He  rose  to  greet  her.  As  he  did  so,  the  dream 
feeling  swept  over  him,  and  his  answer  was  tinged 
with  an  unaccustomed  embarrassment. 

"  It  is  always  well  to  be  punctual,"  he  said,  and, 


THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE     143 

as  soon  as  he  had  said  it,  knew  it  to  be  a  banal 
remark. 

Ruth  laughed,  a  merry  laugh.  "  You  said  that 
quite  like  a  schoolmaster,"  she  observed. 

"  I  admit  the  charge,"  he  returned  lightly,  hav- 
ing recovered  himself.  "  Anyway,  it  was  a  laud- 
able sentiment." 

"  Oh,  laudable— certainly !  " 

He  was  quite  as  surprised  in  the  change  in  her 
as  Lory  had  been,  and  quite  as  pleased.  This  girl- 
ish vivacity  suited  him  even  better  than  her  timidity 
of  last  evening.  He  was  glad  that  she  was  not 
dull. 

She  sat  down  and  glanced  around  the  room.  The 
office  was  furnished  simply,  almost  barely.  The 
desk  at  which  Rudolf  was  sitting  would  not  have 
brought  five  dollars  at  auction.  She  was  somewhat 
surprised.     He  caught  her  thought. 

"  It  is  not  very  artistic,  is  it  ?  You  see,  this  is 
the  way  it  was  when  I  started  twenty  years  ago, 
although  my  office  was  then  in  another  building — 
and,  well,  I  have  a  fondness  for  the  old  things — fa- 
miliar associations  and  all  that." 

She  nodded.  "  I  understand,"  she  said.  "  And 
now,"  she  went  on  brightly,  "  about  my  part?  " 

He  picked  up  a  ruler  from  his  desk  and  fingered 
it  nervously: 

"  I  have  a  request  to  make,  for  which  I  cannot 


144    THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE 

give  an  adequate  explanation.  Call  it  a  whim  or 
anything  you  like — it  is  in  reference  to  your  part." 

She  was  all  attention. 

"  The  leading  character  in  *  The  Parisian  Mil- 
liner '  is  a  young  girl,  who,  brought  up  in  a  con- 
vent, is  thrown  among  the  very  opposite  conditions 
in  Paris.  Miss  Darlington  will  play  the  part  the 
coming  season,  but  I  have  a  desire  to  see  you  in 
the  role.  Of  course,  there  is  the  regular  under- 
study, but  I  want  you  to  be  able  to  take  the  part 
at  a  rehearsal.  As  you  probably  know,  the  star 
appears  at  rehearsals  only  when  she  cannot  pos- 
sibly find  any  excuse  for  skipping  them.  Some- 
times the  understudy  is  sick,  or  must  be  absent  for 
some  other  reason,  so  it  is  not  a  bad  thing  to  have 
an  extra.  If  you  are  willing  to  be  this  extra,  it 
will  mean  a  good  deal  of  work  for  you,  but  it  will 
be  good  training." 

"Why,  of  course  I  am  willing!"  cried  Ruth 
eagerly.    "  I  shall  love  to." 

"  Good ! "  He  was  relieved  that  she  asked  no 
questions.  "Of  course,  your  salary  will  be  the 
same  whether  you  are  doing  this  work  or  appear- 
ing in  a  regular  part,  and  we  will  decide  about  the 
part,  of  which  I  spoke  to  you  last  night,  later. 
Your  salary  will  be  thirty  dollars  a  week  to  begin 
with.  If  you  wish,  I  will  give  you  an  advance  on 
it  now."    He  reached  for  his  check-book. 


THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE     145 

A  sudden  uncertainty  leaped  into  Ruth's  mind. 
"  Oh,  no ! "  she  said,  drawing  back.  "  I  will  wait 
until  my  work  begins." 

"  Very  well." 

"  But  are  you  sure  I  am  worth  so  much  money  ? 
It  seems  like  a  great  deal." 

"  My  dear  Miss  Lawson,"  he  said  gravely,  but 
with  a  twinkle  in  his  eye,  "  you  should  not  ask  such 
a  question ;  it  is  very  amateurish.  You  are  to  be  an 
actress,  therefore  you  should  endeavor  to  act  like 
one.  What  you  should  have  said  was  that  you 
thought  you  should  have  forty." 

"  I  can  say  it  yet,"  she  retorted. 

"  Oh,  no !  Opportunity  knocks  but  once,  you 
know.     But  remember  next  time." 

"  I  will,"  she  promised,  laughing. 

He  touched  a  button  on  his  desk.  "  Bring  the 
part  of  Sylvia  to  me,"  he  said  to  the  young  woman 
who  answered  his  summons. 

When  it  was  brought,  he  placed  it  in  Ruth's 
hands.  She  scanned  the  typewritten  pages  ear- 
nestly, a  little  frown  of  concentration  on  her  face. 
As  Rudolf  sat  watching  her,  he  was  gripped  again 
by  the  dream  feeling.  He  swung  back  to  his  desk 
impatiently. 

"  I  must  be  getting  in  my  second  childhood,"  he 
muttered,  taking  up  his  mail. 

But  he  did  not  open  it.     Instead,  in  a  moment, 


146    THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE 

he  shamefacedly  swung  his  chair  back  again,  and 
stole  a  look  at  her. 

At  last  she  looked  up.  "  It  is  very  clever,"  she 
commented,  "  but  I  think  some  of  the  lines  could 
be  improved." 

He  looked  amused.  "  Are  you  yearning  to  be- 
come a  playwright.  Miss  Lawson  ?  " 

A  sudden  realization  of  her  temerity  swept  over 
her. 

"  I  should  not  have  made  the  suggestion,"  she 
apologized.  "  I  was  so  interested  that  I  for- 
got " 

"  No,  no !  "  he  protested.  "  You  are  perfectly 
right.  Often  a  novice  judges  more  nearly  from  the 
viewpoint  of  the  audience  than  we  of  the  profes- 
sion, who  naturally  look  at  everything  from  the 
stage  point  of  view.  If  you  find  any  lines  you  think 
you  can  improve,  make  the  alterations  and  show 
them  to  me.  I  want  you  to  feel  an  interest  in  the 
part." 

She  rose.  "  I  will  not  take  up  any  more  of  your 
time,  Mr.  Rudolf." 

"  I  am  not  busy,"  he  protested.  "  Won't  you 
wait  and  go  out  to  lunch  with  me?  It  is  nearly 
twelve  now." 

She  declined,  and  he  had  to  let  her  go,  although, 
yielding  to  an  impulse  for  which  he  could  not  ac- 
count, he  stood  at  the  window  and  watched  her 


THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE     147 

go  up  the  street  until  she  was  lost  to  his  view  in 
the  crowd.  Then  he  turned  back  to  the  desk,  and 
plunged  into  his  work.  But  the  face  of  Ruth  had 
a  way  of  obtruding  in  his  thoughts  and  driving 
out  the  business  in  hand.  Once  in  the  midst  of 
dictating  a  letter,  he  relapsed  into  a  brown  study, 
from  which  he  was  aroused  by  his  stenographer, 
who  was  patently  amused.  He  finally  gave  it  up 
and  went  out  to  lunch. 

On  Broadway  near  Thirty-ninth  Street,  he  en- 
countered Ned  Redburn. 

"  Hello,  Rudy ! "  cried  this  little  man  gayly. 
"  Wait  till  you  hear  the  joke  on  Fred  Van  Horn ! 
It's  the  best  ever." 

But  Rudolf  pushed  by  him  with  a  muttered  ex- 
cuse that  he  was  in  a  hurry,  and  left  Ned  star- 
ing after  him  with  a  comical  expression  of  dismay 
on  his  chubby  face. 

"  Well,  I  wonder  what  has  got  into  Rudy ! "  he 
exclaimed.  "  I  never  knew  him  to  act  that  way 
before."  He  stood  shaking  his  head  in  perplexity, 
a  puzzled  frown  on  his  face. 

But  the  frown  soon  disappeared,  and  his  coun- 
tenance relapsed  into  its  usual  smiling,  self-com- 
placent condition. 

"  That's  a  good  one  on  me,  all  right.  Cut  dead 
on  the  street.  Gad!  What  will  Morry  say  when 
he  hears  it?     He's  always  saying  that  I  am  get- 


148    THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE 

ting  to  be  a  bore.  Guess  I  won't  tell  him.  Yes, 
I  will,  too — it's  too  good  to  keep." 

Rudolf  continued  on  his  way  to  the  club.  There 
he  met  a  man  who  had  a  business  proposition  to 
make,  and  Rudolf  forgot  for  a  time  about  Ruth. 
But,  on  his  return  to  the  office,  she  was  recalled 
to  his  mind.  There  was  the  chair  in  which  she  had 
sat;  he  could  picture  to  himself  exactly  how  she 
looked.  Seized  with  a  sudden  burst  of  impatience, 
he  flung  the  chair  across  the  room.  Again  he  took 
up  his  work,  but  work  was  not  for  Rudolf  that  day. 
He  found  himself  making  inconceivable  blunders; 
he  dictated  a  letter,  concerning  an  important  busi- 
ness matter,  to  the  wrong  firm.  Sam  discovered 
the  error. 

"  Look  here,  Ben,"  he  said  hotly.  "  If  you  want 
to  get  drunk,  why  all  right,  but  for  God's  sake  don't 
do  it  during  business  hours.  What  d'ye  think  these 
people  would  have  thought  of  you  if  I  hadn't  got 
onto  this  ?  " 

Rudolf  made  a  pretense  of  calmly  going  on  with 
a  letter  he  was  writing,  but  inwardly  he  was  boil- 
ing with  fury — against  Sam  for  having  discovered 
his  mistake. 

"  Do  you  hear  what  I  say?  "  shouted  Sam.  He 
had  a  slumbering  temper,  but  when  it  was  aroused 
it  was  wide-awake. 

"  You  go  to  the  devil,"   Rudolf  hissed  at  his 


THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE     149 

partner,  and  left  the  office,  banging  the  door  be- 
hind him. 

Sam  stared  at  the  door  a  moment,  then  he  chuc- 
kled. "  I  got  a  rise  out  of  Bennie  that  time,  all 
right."  A  thought  struck  him,  and  turned  his  face 
sober.  "  I  wonder  if  anything  is  the  matter  with 
him.  He's  acted  devilish  queer  all  day.  This  morn- 
ing— about  that  Sylvia  business — and  now — I  won- 
der  "    He  worried  about  it  all  the  rest  of  the 

afternoon. 

In  the  meantime,  Rudolf  had  gone  into  a  nearby 
drug  store  and  telephoned  for  his  car,  and  was 
now  striding  angrily  up  and  down  in  front  of  the 
office  waiting  for  it. 

"  The  blamed  fool ! "  he  kept  saying  to  himself. 
"  Just  an  ordinary  mistake — the  blamed  fool !  " 

When  his  car  came  he  dismissed  the  chauffeur, 
and,  taking  the  wheel,  began  to  drive  recklessly 
amid  the  Broadway  traffic,  until  he  was  brought 
up  short  by  an  officer,  who  arrested  him  and  haled 
him  before  a  magistrate.  Rudolf  paid  his  fine 
sullenly,  and  started  out  once  more,  but  this  time 
in  a  more  subdued  spirit. 

He  turned  east  to  Fifth  Avenue,  and  before 
many  minutes  had  elapsed  was  spinning  through 
Central  Park.  Emerging  from  the  park,  he  crossed 
over  to  Riverside  Drive,  and,  turning  north,  was 
soon  out  of  the  city,  where  he  could  let  the  car  go. 


I50    THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE 

The  cool  breeze  of  the  August  afternoon  acted 
as  a  sedative  on  his  mind,  and,  when  he  returned 
some  hours  later  to  his  apartment,  he  was  once 
more  in  his  normal  condition. 

Yet  that  day  a  seed  had  been  planted  in  the  man's 
soul,  which  was  to  cause  him  hours  of  mental 
agony  and  lead  him  into  strange  situations.  But 
this  Rudolf  did  not  know.  He  felt  that,  whatever 
might  have  been  the  matter  with  him  that  day,  at 
least  now  he  was  cured. 


CHAPTER  XVII 

The  next  two  weeks  Ruth  saw  Benjamin  Rudolf 
daily,  and,  as  is  the  case  when  two  people  are 
united  by  a  common  interest,  she  felt  better  ac- 
quainted with  him  than  she  would  have  in  months 
of  ordinary  friendship.  She  was  certain  that  he 
felt  a  sincere  liking  for  her,  and  she  liked  him  bet- 
ter than  any  man  she  had  ever  known,  except  John. 
He  was  unfailingly  kind  and  sympathetic,  listen- 
ing gravely  to  all  her  troubles  about  her  part,  help- 
ing her  with  suggestions,  and  encouraging  her  with 
praise;  yet  it  was  not  indiscriminate  praise. 

The  night  before  he  had  stopped  her  in  the  mid- 
dle of  the  lines  she  was  supposed  to  be  speaking 
to  the  baron. 

"  That  will  not  do,  Sylvia."  He  always  addressed 
her  as  Sylvia  now,  and  she  did  not  resent  it.  "  You 
must  put  more  feeling  into  the  words.  Here,  let 
me  be  the  baron." 

Without  a  second's  hesitation,  he  took  up  the 
baron's  lines  which  preceded  her  cue  and  went 
through  them  without  a  break.  It  was  always  a 
matter  of  astonishment  to  Ruth  to  find  how  much 

151 


152    THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE 

he  knew  aboiit  the  play;  he  seemed  to  have  com- 
mitted every  part  of  it  to  memory. 

"  Now,"  he  said,  "  talk  to  me.  Imagine  that  you 
are  in  love  with  me.  Let  yourself  go ;  throw  your- 
self into  it.  No,  no !  "  he  exclaimed  impatiently, 
seeing  her  flush.  "  This  is  entirely  impersonal, 
a  matter  of  business." 

And  she  had  thrown  herself  into  the  part,  and 
had  earned  a  quiet  word  of  commendation  from 
him. 

She  was  very  busy  now;  there  was  the  costumer 
to  see  and  the  young  man  who  was  teaching  her  the 
dancing  incident  to  the  part;  there  were  her  lines 
to  study,  and  one  whole  day  had  been  given  up  to 
the  photographer,  who  took  her  picture  in  all  her 
different  costumes  and  in  any  variety  of  poses.  Ru- 
dolf had  told  her  to  do  this,  although  she  could 
not  understand  why.  Lory  was  helping  Ruth  all 
she  could,  but  this  afternoon  she  had  declared  that 
her  pupil  had  far  outstripped  her. 

"  You're  the  best  ever,  kid,"  she  said  enthusias- 
tically. "  If  you  strike  that  gait  on  the  stage,  there's 
nothing  to  it  but  fame  with  a  big  F  for  yours." 

"  I  will  have  to  improve  a  great  deal,"  Ruth  an- 
swered, "  before  I  will  be  able  to  face  an  audience. 
I  am  very  weak  in  some  of  my  lines;  I  can't  seem 
to  get  the  right  inflection." 

"  Nonsense,"  retorted  Lory.     "  You  don't  have 


THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE     153 

to  be  a  Mary  Mannering  in  a  musical  show.  All 
you've  got  to  do  is  to  look  pretty  and  show  your 
legs." 

"Oh,  Lory!" 

Lory  laughed  delightedly.  "  I  knew  I  could  make 
you  blush,  but  honest,  if  you  sing  well  and  dance 
gracefully,  and — but  I  won't  say  it  again — the  pub- 
lic will  be  satisfied.  That's  what  they  want,  and 
that's  what  Rudy  gives  them.  That's  why  he  never 
pulls  off  a  fizzle.  You  don't  catch  Rudy  trying  to 
elevate  the  stage.  He  elevates  the  skirts  of  the 
chorus  instead,  and  has  'em  wear  black-silk  stock- 
ings, which  cuts  a  bigger  figure  at  the  box-office 
end." 

Ruth  was  pained.  "  I  don't  like  to  hear  you  talk 
that  way.  Lory.    I  wish  you  wouldn't." 

Lory  laughed.  "  All  right,  kid,  but  it's  true,  just 
the  same." 

There  was  a  question  Ruth  had  been  meaning 
for  some  time  to  ask  Lory.  She  decided  to  broach 
it  now. 

"  Lory,"  she  asked  hesitatingly,  "  does  Mr.  Ru- 
dolf know  that  I  am  married  ?  " 

Lory  looked  up  from  the  book  she  was  read- 
ing. "  What  a  funny  question !  What  made  you 
think  of  that  ?  " 

Ruth  was  embarrassed.  "  I  only  thought  he 
ought  to  know.     It  doesn't  seem  quite  fair,  when 


154    THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE 

he's  been  so  kind  and  everything, — "  she  ended 
lamely. 

"  I  don't  know  whether  he  does  or  not,"  an- 
swered Lory.  "  But  don't  you  worry  about  any- 
thing's  not  being  fair  to  Rudy.  He's  no  spring 
chicken,  kid;  he  won't  tear  under  the  wing." 

Ruth  said  nothing  more  about  it,  but  she  de- 
cided that  she  would  tell  Rudolf  at  the  first  oppor- 
tunity she  could,  without  her  disclosure  seeming 
forced. 

Ruth  roamed  around  the  room  restlessly.  She 
had  completed  her  day's  work,  for  Rudolf  had  lim- 
ited her  to  a  certain  length  of  time  each  day,  lest 
she  overtax  her  strength.  Suddenly  she  seized  a 
sofa  cushion  and  shied  it  at  Lory. 

"  You're  getting  to  be  a  regular  old  bookworm !  " 
she  cried  merrily.  "  You've  been  reading  all  day. 
Put  on  your  things  and  let's  go  for  a  walk.  It's 
warm  and  sunny  out." 

Lory  grumbled  at  being  torn  from  the  yellow- 
backed  novel  she  was  reading,  but  finally  arose,  and 
started  to  get  her  hat.  Before  she  reached  her 
room,  the  bell  rang. 

"  Let's  hide,"  suggested  Ruth.  "  Maybe  it's  that 
old  woman  who  was  here  last  week  with  those 
tracts." 

"  I'll  tell  you  a  better  way.  If  it's  anyone  we 
don't  want  to  see,  we'll  tell  'em  we're  just  going 


THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE     155 

to  rehearsal.  Hurry  up  and  put  your  hat  on!  I'll 
wait  a  minute  before  I  open  the  door," 

Ruth  hastened  to  obey,  but  before  she  was  ready 
she  heard  Lory's  pleased  exclamation  over  the  vis- 
itor, and  knew  that  there  was  no  need  of  the  deceit. 
She  went  back  into  the  room  just  in  time  to  see 
a  girl,  dressed  in  a  heavy  winter  suit,  stroll  into 
the  room,  mopping  her  brow  with  a  soiled  hand- 
kerchief. The  girl's  face  was  pinched  and  drawn, 
and  there  were  heavy  circles  under  her  eyes,  yet  she 
carried  herself  jauntily. 

"  Hello,  old  scouts !  "  she  cried  gayly.  "  How 
do  you  like  my  costume  ?  Just  got  it  from  Worth's. 
And,  when  you  have  gazed  your  fill  on  that,  let 
your  eyes  wander  over  my  jewels.  This  *  tarara  '  " 
— ^pointing  to  her  bedraggled  hat — "  cost  a  cool 
hundred  thousand — stage  money — and  this  rare 
gem  on  my  lily  white  finger  is  worth  a  king's  ran- 
som.   It  was  presented " 

"  For  Heaven's  sake,  Madge,"  remonstrated 
Lory,  "  stop  that  nonsense,  and  tell  me  why  you  are 
wearing  that  winter  suit  on  a  day  like  this ! " 

The  girl  struck  a  melodramatic  attitude.  "  Curse 
ye.  Jack  Dawson!  Ye  tore  me  from  me  poor  old 
mother's  arms,  and  brought  me  to  the  crool  city. 
Look,  look,  I  say,  on  your  work,  ere  I  rend  the 
lying  tongue  from  your  dastard  throat ! " 

Both  of  the  other  girls  laughed.    Madge  turned 


156    THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE 

an  amazed  eye  on  Ruth,  as  if  she  had  just  seen 
her  for  the  first  time.  She  advanced  and,  taking 
Ruth's  hand,  dropped  to  her  knee : 

"  Welcome  to  our  city,  fair  lady " 

"  Will  you  cut  it  out,  Madge  ?  "  cried  Lory  in 
exasperation.  "  Some  one  must  have  told  you  you 
were  funny." 

The  girl  looked  aggrieved.  "  Hast  forgot,  lit- 
tle one,  how  in  these  two  brawny  arms  I  carried 
you  from  the  burning " 

"  Come  on,  Ruth,"  said  Lory  in  disgust.  "  Let's 
go  out  and  leave  her  to  tell  it  to  the  wall-paper." 

Madge  rose  and  dropped  into  a  chair.  The  mo- 
ment she, stopped  talking,  Ruth  could  see  the  ter- 
rible sadness  in  her  face.  She  divined  that  the  girl's 
nonsense  had  been  an  alternative  for  tears. 

But,  even  now,  Madge  would  not  give  in  to  her 
feelings.  "  Well,"  she  began  comically,  "  I'm  all  in 
— down  and  out — busted !  Landlady's  attached  my 
trunk,  and  these  are  the  only  rags  I  have  to  my 
name.  Last  Wednesday — you  know,  it  rained — I 
started  out  with  this  old  suit  on,  thinking  I'd  save 
my  more  radiant  robes  for  sunny  weather.  That's 
where  I  slipped  a  cog,  trying  to  be  economical. 
I've  often  noticed  that  this  looking  into  the  future 
doesn't  pay.  You  dope  it  out  that  you're  making 
a  clever  pass,  and  the  first  thing  you  know  Fate 
gets  under  your  guard  just  where  you  didn't  ex- 


THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE     157 

pect.  Well,  to  go  on  with  my  hard-luck  story,  when 
I  returned  to  my  humble  abode,  I  found  my  trunk 
gone,  and  me  with  not  a  stitch  to  wear.  Maybe 
you  think  it's  fun  to  be  trotting  around  in  winter 
duds  on  a  day  like  this.  Whew!  Say,  Lory,  I 
wouldn't  do  it  for  anyone  else,  but,  if  you  have  any 
grub  around  this  joint  that  isn't  working,  I'll  help 
you  get  rid  of  it.  Just  between  friends,  I've  been 
so  busy  counting  my  money  the  last  few  days  that 
I  haven't  found  time  to  eat."  The  flush  that  spread 
over  the  girl's  face  told  what  it  cost  her  to  make 
the  request. 

Ruth  uttered  an  exclamation  of  sympathy. 
Quick  tears  sprang  to  Madge's  eyes,  but  she  shook 
her  head  savagely,  and  in  a  moment  was  launched 
on  a  string  of  nonsense  about  the  visit  she  was  to 
make  the  Astorbilts. 

Lory  and  Ruth  bustled  around,  and  soon  had  a 
substantial  meal  prepared.  Madge  sat  down  at  the 
table.  It  was  pitiful  to  see  her  bolting  down  the 
food,  though  clearly  ashamed  of  her  ravenousness. 
She  would  lay  down  her  knife  and  fork  and  begin 
to  talk,  but  the  lust  for  food  would  grip  her,  and 
she  would  seize  them  and  attack  the  meal  with 
animal-like  ferocity.  Ruth  hurried  from  the  room, 
unable  to  keep  the  tears  back,  and  Lory,  thinking 
that  Madge  would  rather  be  left  alone,  promptly 
followed. 


158    THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE 

"  Ruth,  that's  the  pluckiest  kid  in  this  burgh. 
She's  had  nothing  but  hard  luck  ever  since  she 
drifted  here  from  the  West.  She's  supposed  to  be 
on  the  stage,  but  every  time  she  gets  a  job  the  show 
busts  up,  or  something  happens,  and  then  she's  had 
all  her  rehearsing  for  nothing.  She's  tried  other 
things,  too,  but  somehow  she  can't  seem  to  connect. 
There's  nothing  to  it,  she's  a  Jonah.  But  you  never 
hear  her  squeal.  She  was  half  starved  when  she 
came  in  here,  but  you  heard  the  line  of  talk  she 
handed  out." 

"  What  will  she  do  now  ?  "  asked  Ruth  in  deep 
sympathy. 

"  God  knows !  I'll  ask  her  to  stay  here,  but  she 
won't;  she's  too  proud.  I've  tried  to  make  her  take 
a  loan  from  me  over  and  over  again,  but  she  won't 
do  that,  either.  How  she's  managed  to  get  along 
this  summer  without  starving  gets  me.  The  worst 
of  it  is  that  there's  a  man  down  in  Wall  Street 
who  would  give  her  anything  in  the  world.  She's 
got  a  conscience,  that's  what's  the  matter.  I've 
told  her  that  she  is  a  fool;  I  guess  she  knows  it 
herself,  but  she  has  made  up  her  mind  that  she  is 
going  to  keep  straight,  and  that's  all  there  is  to  it." 

Ruth  was  horrified.  "  But,  Lory,"  she  faltered, 
"  you  would  not  want  her  to " 

"Why  not?"  demanded  Lory  fiercely.  "She's 
blamed  near  starved.     Whose  fault  would  it  be  if 


THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE.    159 

she  went  crooked?  God,  I'd  like  to  see  some  of 
these  good  people  in  her  fix !  " 

"  But  there  must  be  some  other  way " 

"  Is  there  ?  "  cried  Lory  passionately.  "  That's 
what  the  fools  who  don't  know  anything  about  it 
are  always  saying.  I  tell  you,  Ruth,  Madge  isn't 
the  only  one  who  has  to  choose  between  starvation 
and  that.  And  starving's  easy  to  talk  about,  but, 
when  you  come  down  to  it,  there  are  sixty  minutes 
in  every  hour  and  twenty-four  hours  in  every  day, 
and  you  don't  die  the  first  day,  either.  If  you  did, 
it  wouldn't  be  so  bad." 

Ruth's  answer  was  forestalled  by  the  reappear- 
ance of  Madge. 

"  Pretty  good  feed  you  hand  out  in  this  shack," 
she  remarked  coolly.  "  Now,  if  you'll  give  me  a 
dope  stick,  I'll  put  my  feet  on  the  table  and  make 
believe  I'm  the  Duchess  of  Marlborough." 

Ruth  passed  over  a  box  of  cigarettes.  The  girl 
lit  one,  and  inhaled  it  appreciatively.  "  First  one 
in  two  weeks,"  she  said  luxuriously.  "  Say,  Lory, 
whatever  became  of  Nina  Royce  ?  Last  time  I  saw 
her  she  was  in  vaudeville.  Some  one  told  me  after- 
wards that  she  had  married  a  mining  man  from  out 
West  somewhere.  Did  you  ever  hear  anything 
about  it  ?  " 

"  It  seems  to  me  that  I  did,"  answered  Lory  in- 
terestedly.   "  I  hope  it's  true.     Nina  is  a  nice  kid. 


i6o    THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE 

I'll  never  forget  the  first  time  I  saw  her.  It  was 
one  amateur  night  at  the  Murray  Hill.  Nina  had 
taken  it  into  her  head  that  she  could  act  Shake- 
speare. She  came  on,  and  tried  to  do  that  crazy 
scene  from — what  is  the  name  of  the  play,  anyhow? 
Well,  she  acted  crazy  all  right,  and  the  crowd 
didn't  do  a  thing  but  guy  her.  But  she  was  game 
and  stuck,  until  at  last  they  had  to  pull  her  off  with 
the  hook.  The  next  time  I  saw  her  she  was  in 
Sherry's  with  a  bunch  of  actorines  and  some  gay 
old  sports.  She  was  dressed  to  kill,  and  had  on 
about  a  million  sparklers.  She'd  struck  it  rich 
somewhere." 

The  two  drifted  on,  talking  about  the  stage,  and 
Ruth  sat  silent,  her  heart  filled  with  sadness.  She 
could  not  understand  how  they  could  talk  so  un- 
concernedly with  this  awful  thing  hanging  over 
Madge.  She  tried  to  think  of  something  she  could 
say,  something  she  could  do  that  would  help.  She 
could  not. 

At  last  Madge  rose.  "  I'll  be  jogging  along  now. 
Much  obliged  for  the  grub — to  both  of  you." 

Lory  went  over  to  her.  "  Kid,"  she  said  ear- 
nestly, "  stay  here." 

The  girl's  eyes  filled.  In  a  moment  she  was  sob- 
bing on  Lory's  shoulder. 

"  I  can't  do  it.  Lory,"  she  said,  as  soon  as  she 
could  speak.    "  I  can't  sponge  on  my  friends.    I've 


THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE     i6i 

reached  my  limit.  You  said  I  would,  and  I  have. 
God  knows  I've  tried  hard,  but  something  was 
wrong.  I've  failed.  I  won't  tell  even  you  what  I've 
had  to  do  this  summer  to  get  enough  to  eat.  I've 
done  my  best.  Maybe  it  wouldn't  be  some  one's  else 
best,  but  it  was  mine.  Now  I'm  through,"  she 
added  bitterly.    "  I'll  try  the  other  game." 

She  straightened  up  and  forced  a  smile  to  her 
face.  "  Well,  old  scouts,  good-by  and  good  luck. 
If  you  ever  bump  up  against  it,  come  to  me. 
There'll  always  be  something  for  you." 

She  nodded  cheerfully,  and  passed  out,  a  pa- 
thetic little  figure  going  bravely  to  meet  the  fate 
against  which  she  had  struggled  for  so  long  in  vain. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

The  two  weeks  had  been  a  period  of  great  import 
in  Benjamin  Rudolf's  life.  His  contact  with  Ruth's 
pure  nature  had  caused  a  revulsion  of  feeling  in 
the  man's  heart.  He  looked  upon  his  customary 
pursuits  and  companions  with  distaste,  and  haunts, 
which  for  years  had  been  enlivened  by  his  pres- 
ence, now  knew  him  no  more.  Nor  had  the  emo- 
tions incited  by  the  dream  died  down ;  instead,  they 
had  grown  stronger  day  by  day,  until  now  he  was 
compelled  to  admit  to  himself  that  he  was  in  love 
with  Ruth. 

It  was  not  a  pure  love — there  was  nothing  ideal 
about  it;  Rudolf's  hfe  up  to  this  time  would  pre- 
clude anything  of  the  kind;  it  was  a  fleshly,  pas- 
sionate love.  Yet  it  was  a  factor  for  good,  and, 
as  its  influence  on  the  man's  character  became  more 
and  more  felt,  he  became  more  and  more  dissatis- 
fied with  the  course  upon  which  he  had  determined. 

The  thought  of  marriage  kept  intruding  in  his 
mind.  At  first  he  had  put  it  aside  angrily,  but  it 
was  not  to  be  so  easily  disposed  of,  and  at  last 
he  had  come  to  look  upon  the  idea  with  something 
less  of  abhorrence.     The  most  forceful  argument 

162 


THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE     163 

in  favor  of  this  course  was  the  fear  which  grew 
up  in  his  heart  that,  should  he  choose  the  other 
path,  Ruth  would  despise  him,  and  now  he  longed 
for  her  love  as  he  had  longed  for  nothing  else  in 
all  his  life.  Had  he  thought  that  there  was  a 
possibility  of  gaining  it  without  taking  upon  him- 
self the  bonds  of  marriage,  he  would  have  dis- 
missed all  thoughts  of  this  state  from  his  mind 
with  contempt,  but  a  growing  knowledge  of  Ruth's 
character  made  him  certain  that  a  liaison  would  be 
unthinkable  to  her. 

He  had  no  doubt  that  Ruth  would  marry  him, 
nor  that  she  would  come  to  love  him;  his  experi- 
ence with  women  had  been  such  as  to  make  him 
supremely  confident  on  this  subject.  Besides,  he 
viewed  everything  more  or  less  from  a  money 
standpoint,  and  he  was  rich.  This  fact  in  itself 
was  an  almost  conclusive  argument  that  he  would 
succeed. 

By  the  end  of  the  two  weeks  the  idea  of  mar- 
riage had  fought  its  way  up  from  a  tiny  seed,  over- 
coming objection  after  objection,  until  now  it  flour- 
ished defiantly. 

On  a  clear,  cool  afternoon  when  the  summer  heat 
had  lessened,  and  the  city  was  breathing  freely 
again  in  the  refreshing  breeze  from  the  northwest, 
he  drove  his  car  up  to  the  curb  in  front  of  the 
apartment  on  Manhattan  Avenue,  and  gave  four 


i64    THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE 

short  honks  of  the  horn,  a  signal  previously  agreed 
upon.  In  a  few  moments  Ruth  appeared  at  the 
door.  She  came  lightly  down  the  steps  and  across 
the  sidewalk  to  the  car. 

"And  how  is  Sylvia  feeling?"  he  asked  as  he 
helped  her  into  the  front  seat  and  took  his  place 
beside  her. 

"  Fine  and  dandy,"  she  answered,  smiling.  This 
was  one  of  Lory's  expressions  that  Ruth  had 
appropriated. 

He  looked  at  her  closely.  "  You  do  not  look 
quite  as  well  as  usual;  you  look  tired,"  he  said 
anxiously. 

"  I  am  a  little  tired,"  she  confessed.  "  I  did 
not  sleep  well  last  night." 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  Ruth  had  not  slept  at  all, 
but  lay  awake  thinking  of  Madge.  She  could  not 
get  the  thought  of  the  girl  out  of  her  mind,  nor 
could  she  forget  the  sadness  in  her  eyes. 

"  You  are  working  too  hard,"  he  declared.  "  You 
must  not  do  it;  it  is  unnecessary.  You  must  take 
better  care  of  yourself.  The  first  thing  you  know 
you  will  break  down."  He  was  plainly  worried,  and 
showed  it  in  eyes  and  voice. 

She  was  touched  by  his  anxiety  for  her.  "  Really, 
I  am  not,"  she  answered.  "  I  did  not  sleep  very 
well  last  night,  that  is  all." 

"  Are   you   sure  ? "   he    demanded    suspiciously. 


THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE     165 

"  You  are  sure  that  you  are  not  feeling  the  strain 
of  the  work  ?  " 

"  Really  and  truly.  Cross  my  heart,"  she  replied, 
laughing. 

They  crossed  over  to  Weehawken  on  the  ferry, 
and  were  soon  rolling  over  the  splendid  roads  of 
New  Jersey.  There  was  not  a  cloud  in  the  sky, 
and  a  thunderstorm  the  night  before  had  washed 
the  dust  from  the  foliage  and  refreshed  it  into  new 
life,  until  it  renewed  its  springtime  beauty.  The 
goldenrod  made  pleasing  dashes  of  yellow  against 
the  green,  and  here  and  there  the  sumach  lent  its 
flash  of  red. 

Rudolf  did  not  talk  much;  he  was  content  to 
enjoy  her  presence  beside  him.  Never,  since  he  had 
known  her,  had  he  felt  the  need  of  her  so  much. 
Yes;  he  would  do  the  right  thing — he  would  not 
risk  her  disdain — he  would  marry  her. 

He  was  almost  on  the  point  of  asking  her  now, 
yet  something  held  him  back.  As  in  the  dream, 
he  felt  his  own  unworthiness.  Who  was  he  that 
he  should  aspire  to  a  pure  woman's  love,  he  who 
had  lived  his  life  a  reckless  libertine?  He  felt 
deadly  ashamed,  and  the  remembrance  of  the  words 
with  their  implication,  which  he  had  spoken  to 
Franklin  Morris  that  night  at  Morini's,  brought  a 
quick  red  to  his  cheek. 

"  Isn't  the  country  beautiful  to-day?  "  she  said  at 


i66    THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE 

last.    "  It  makes  one  glad  that  one's  alive,  only " 

She  sighed. 

"Only  what?"  he  asked. 

"  I  was  just  thinking  how  much  sadness  there 
is  in  the  world.  I  never  realized  it  before  I  came 
to  New  York.  Of  course  people  in  the  country 
have  their  troubles  and  heartaches,  but  there  it  is 
different  somehow.  Here  it  is  all  so  pitiless;  a 
human  being  seems  to  count  for  so  little,  a  tiny 
drop  in  the  ocean.  Nobody  knows  about  him,  and 
nobody  cares.  In  the  country  he  would  at  least 
have  the  sympathy  of  his  neighbors,  he  would  be 
a  part  of  the  community,  but  here " 

He  nodded  gravely.  "  The  only  ones  the  city 
has  any  use  for  are  those  out  of  whom  it  can  get 
something,  and  in  a  way  it  is  logical.  The  very  fact 
that  it  is  a  city  shows  that  it  is  a  center  of  com- 
mercial life,  and  in  a  city  the  size  of  New  York 
commerce  is  carried  on  at  top  pressure.  Every 
man  must  exert  the  whole  of  his  energy  in  doing 
his  part,  whatever  it  is.  He  has  not  the  time  nor 
the  strength  to  stop  and  look  after  the  failures. 
You  would  not  expect  an  army  on  the  march  to 
wait  for  the  stragglers." 

"  But  how  cruel  it  is !  " 

"  Undoubtedly ;  and  yet  it  is  merely  the  spe- 
cialization of  a  principle — the  principle  that  it  is 
what  a  man  does,  and  not  what  he  is,  which  makes 


THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE     167 

him  valuable  to  the  community.  The  world  has 
seen  the  opposite  belief  tried,  and  the  results  were 
even  worse.  In  the  old  days,  a  man's  birth  deter- 
mined his  place  in  society.  Whether  he  was  worth- 
less or  the  opposite,  did  not  make  any  difference, 
he  could  go  neither  up  nor  down.  And,  before  that, 
physical  strength  was  the  quality  which  marked  out 
a  man's  position.  Our  present  system,  with  all 
its  faults,  has  this  to  recommend  it — a  man  can  al- 
ways go  up  if  he  has  the  determination." 

"But  can  fie?"  she  asked  earnestly.  "Can  a 
man  make  his  own  life?  " 

"  I  made  mine,"  he  answered.  "  I  came  to  New 
York  a  poor  boy,  without  a  cent,  without  education 
even.  I  worked.  While  other  young  men  I  knew 
were  going  around  seeking  pleasure  and  spending 
their  money,  I  was  saving  mine  and  devoting  all 
my  time  to  building  a  foundation  for  future 
success." 

"  Ah,  but  don't  you  see  ?  You  had  the  character 
to  do  that.  You  had  the  ability.  Of  course  your 
own  efforts  helped;  I  do  not  deny  that.  But,  if  you 
had  not  been  born  with  a  strong  character,  your 
efforts  might  have  gone  for  nothing." 

"  Admitting  that  to  be  true,  what  then  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know,"  she  answered  helplessly. 
"  Sometimes  it  all  seems  so  wrong.  I  don't  know 
whether  I  can  explain  what  I  mean,  but  sometimes 


i68    THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE 

it  seems  to  me  that  it  is  not  fair  to  make  anyone's 
ability  to  get  money  the  test  of  everything.  Some 
try  hard  and  cannot  " — she  was  thinking  of  Madge. 
' — "  There  are  many  people  who  seem  to  lack  the 
ability,  and  others  seem  to  succeed  almost  without 
effort  on  their  part.  Then,  if  everybody  had  the 
same  chance  it  would  be  different,  but  they 
haven't." 

"  You  are  a  socialist,"  he  said,  smiling. 

"  Maybe  I  am.  I  don't  know  much  about  so- 
cialism. But  it  does  seem  as  if,  with  all  the  other 
things  civilization  has  accomplished,  it  ought  to  be 
able  to  guarantee  to  every  person  born  into  the 
world  at  least  a  living." 

"  It  does,  if  a  man  is  willing  to  work." 

"  Not  always.  There  are  a  thousand  and  one 
things  that  may  prevent  a  man  who  is  willing  and 
anxious  to  work  from  being  able  to;  sickness,  in- 
jury, for  instance.    And  with  women " 

"  A  woman  has  no  business  to  mix  in  the  indus- 
trial life  at  all." 

"  How  easy  that  is  to  say,"  she  returned  scorn- 
fully. "  And  yet  I  agree  with  you  in  a  way.  I 
did  not  before  I  came  to  New  York,  but  I  do  now. 
Women  ought  never  to  be  placed  in  a  position  where 
they  have  either  to  obtain  money  or  starve.  Even 
among  savages  things  are  managed  better  than 
that." 


THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE    169 

"  What  is  your  remedy  for  all  this  ?  "  he  asked 
in  amusement.  "  Would  you  have  the  government 
pension  all  women,  and  everyone  else  who  is  not 
fitted  to  make  a  living?" 

"  I  don't  know,"  she  said  sa31y.  "  It  is  all  so 
terrible.  You  smile,  but  it  is  only  because  you  are 
so  used  to  the  present  way  that  anyone  who  sees 
the  horror  of  it  seems  to  you  simply  foolish.  And 
yet  I  imagine  that,  if  you  had  asked  one  of  the 
Pharaohs  of  ancient  Egypt  if  it  were  possible  to 
dispense  with  slaves,  he  would  have  smiled  in  amuse- 
ment, and  thought  you  crazy." 

"  I  beg  your  pardon  for  smiling,"  he  said  quickly, 
"  but  it  is  impossible  to  change  present  conditions. 
If  you  had  your  way,  and  everyone  was  guaran- 
teed a  living,  nobody  would  work.  Business  would 
be  dead,  and  we  would  revert  to  savagery." 

"  Just  what  Pharaoh  would  have  said,"  she  re- 
torted. "  He  would  not  have  been  able  to  under- 
stand that  anyone  would  work  without  being  driven 
to  it  by  the  lash.  You  cannot  imagine  anyone's 
working  unless  driven  to  it  by  the  fear  of  starva- 
tion." 

"  No,"  he  admitted,  "  I  cannot." 

"  Yet  you  forget  the  power  of  public  opinion. 
As  a  matter  of  fact,  money  in  itself  is  not  desired 
by  anyone.  It  is  the  increased  respect  in  the  eyes 
of  the  world  for  its  possessor  that  makes  it  striven 


I70    THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE 

for.  Nearly  all  luxury  is  indulged  in  for  this  same 
reason.  If  a  man  was  on  a  desert  island,  with  no 
neighbors  to  envy  him,  I  doubt  if  he  would  care 
whether  he  lived  in  a  castle  or  a  hovel.  Much  of 
the  so-called  luxury  is  really  distasteful  to  those 
indulging  in  it,  yet  it  is  a  badge  of  wealth  and  must 
be  worn  to  influence  the  opinion  of  friends  and  of 
the  world  in  general." 

"  Really,"  he  laughed,  with  more  than  amused 
tolerance,  "  you  almost  convince  me." 

She  laughed  too.  "  I  am  afraid  I  have  been 
talking  a  great  deal,"  she  said  apologetically. 

"  I  have  enjoyed  hearing  your  views,"  he  said 
earnestly.  "  But  I  am  just  old-fashioned  enough 
to  believe  that,  if  a  man  is  good  for  anything,  he 
can  get  along  somehow." 

"  That  is  what  John  used  to  say,  but  I  know 
now  that  he  was  wrong." 

"  Who  is  John?  "  he  asked  jealously. 

"  My  husband.    Didn't  you  know " 

The  car  swerved  suddenly,  almost  striking  a  stone 
at  the  roadside,  and  the  rest  of  her  sentence  was 
lost  in  a  little  exclamation  of  fright.  She  glanced 
up  to  see  that  Rudolf  was  as  white  as  death  and 
gasping  to  get  his  breath. 

"  What  is  the  matter  ? "  she  cried  fearfully. 
"  Are  you  sick " 

He  forced  a  smile  to  his  face.     "  I  have  a  little 


THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE     171 

trouble  with  my  heart,"  he  muttered.  "  I  am  used 
to  these  attacks.    It  will  be  over  in  a  moment." 

He  had  slowed  down  the  car,  and  produced  a 
silver-topped  flask  from  his  pocket.  A  few  swal- 
lows of  the  whisky  brought  the  color  back  into 
his  face,  but  his  hand  still  shook,  and  he  was  plainly 
unstrung. 

Gradually  he  recovered  himself,  and  listened  to 
Ruth's  talk  of  her  life  in  Harbury,  with  an  impas- 
sive face.  Only  once  did  he  venture  a  remark.  It 
was  after  Ruth  had  told  him  of  John's  accident 
and  the  apparent  hopelessness  of  his  case. 

"  You  should  obtain  a  divorce,"  he  said.  "  It 
is  not  right  that  you  should  be  tied  to  a  man  like 
that  for  life." 

The  expression  of  horror  in  her  eyes  warned  him 
that  he  had  made  a  false  step. 

"  Oh,  no !  "  she  cried.  "  I  would  never  think  of 
such  a  thing." 

It  was  characteristic  of  the  man  that  Rudolf  did 
not  shorten  the  drive,  although  every  minute  was 
agony  to  him.  He  purposely  drove  farther  than 
he  had  intended,  and  the  lights  were  twinkling  in 
the  streets  of  Manhattan  when  he  set  Ruth  down 
at  her  door. 

"  I  am  worried  about  you,"  she  said  anxiously 
on  parting.  "  You  were  warning  me  to-day  against 
working  too  hard.    I  am  sure  it  is  you  who  do  that, 


172    THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE 

not  I.  Won't  you  promise  to  take  a  rest?  I  wish 
you  would.  Please !  "  She  looked  up  into  his  eyes, 
her  own  shadowed  with  concern. 

A  great  bitterness  welled  up  in  his  heart.  How 
sweet  her  solicitude  would  have  been  under  other 
conditions.     Now  it  was  torture  to  him. 

He  made  a  vague  reply,  and,  entering  the  car, 
threw  the  clutch  in  with  a  jerk.  The  car  sprang 
forward  as  a  horse  under  the  spur.  Rudolf  drove 
recklessly  to  the  garage.  He  wanted  to  get  away 
from  the  thoughts  which  tortured  him.  Now  that 
he  knew  he  could  not  marry  Ruth,  he  held  the  con- 
viction that  it  had  been  his  intention  from  the 
first. 

As  he  strode  away  from  the  garage,  a  thought 
struck  him. 

"  God !  "  he  muttered.  "  The  only  decent  thing 
I  ever  wanted  to  do  in  my  life,  and  I  can't  do  it! " 


CHAPTER  XIX 

The  first  rehearsal  of  "  The  Parisian  Milliner  "  was 
a  trying  ordeal  to  Ruth.  Tessie  Darlington  had 
not  yet  returned  from  her  summer  home,  and  the 
regular  understudy  was  absent — no  one  but  Rudolf 
knew  why — so  Ruth  was  called  upon  to  take  the 
part  of  Sylvia. 

The  bare  stage  and  the  dark  house  oppressed  her, 
and  the  actors  and  actresses  in  their  street  clothes 
gave  the  whole  affair  an  effect  of  childishness  and 
unreality.  In  costume,  with  the  lights,  and  the 
music  of  the  orchestra,  "  The  Parisian  Milliner " 
would  doubtless  be  entertaining,  but  without  the 
atmosphere  created  by  these  embellishments  it  was 
hopelessly  dull.  The  remarks,  supposedly  witty, 
fell  flat,  and  the  lines  which  were  meant  to  be 
"  spicy  "  became  merely  vulgar.  The  songs  alone 
retained  anything  of  their  natural  effectiveness,  and 
even  they  were  marred  by  the  general  depression. 

Ruth  was  very  nervous  at  first,  and  trembled  lest 
the  stage  manager  turn  on  her  the  flow  of  sarcasm 
which  he  launched  at  the  other  people  in  the  cast, 
outbursts  which,  to  tell  the  truth,  seemed  to  affect 
them  very  little,  if  at  all.    He  refrained,  and,  when 

173 


174    THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE 

he  did  have  occasion  to  address  a  remark  to  her, 
did  so  in  a  quiet,  respectful  manner.  Ruth  was 
grateful  to  him  for  his  consideration,  but  the  grati- 
tude was  misplaced,  and  should  have  gone  to  Ru- 
dolf, who  had  given  explicit  orders  concerning  this 
matter.  As  the  rehearsal  proceeded,  however,  she 
gained  courage.  She  could  not  help  knowing  that 
she  was  doing  well;  she  intercepted  admiring 
glances,  and  overheard  stray  bits  of  conversation 
which,  though  often  tinged  with  jealousy,  heart- 
ened her. 

Indeed,  Ruth  was  a  puzzle  to  the  others.  They 
had  not  even  heard  of  her  before,  and  that  a 
stranger  should  come  among  them,  and  at  a  re- 
hearsal give  a  creditable  performance  of  the  leading 
part,  filled  them  with  wonder.  Who  was  she? 
Where  had  Rudolf  picked  her  up?  Was  she  to  be 
the  star?  Where  was  Tessie  Darlington?  These 
were  some  of  the  questions  they  whispered  among 
themselves,  questions  which  no  one  could  answer. 

Rudolf  sat  in  a  box  and  looked  on,  smiling 
quietly.  He  was  satisfied;  he  knew  that  his  intui- 
tion had  been  once  more  justified.  Once  he  caught 
her  eye,  and  patted  his  hands  together  in  a  panto- 
mime of  approval.    She  smiled  back  at  him  happily. 

Sam  Andrews  had  come  to  sneer,  but  remained 
to  worship.  "  I  wonder  if  Bennie  has  got  second 
sight,"  he  said  to  himself.     "  I  bet  she  will  make 


THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE     175 

a  better  Sylvia  than  Tessie.  She's  a  cracker  jack,  all 
right!" 

Then  he  began  to  worry.  "  I  hope  Tessie  doesn't 
change  her  mind  and  want  to  come  back.  We've 
got  her  letter  locked  up  in  the  safe  all  right  enough. 
Still  she  might  cook  up  a  case  somehow — enough 
of  a  one  to  make  a  lot  of  trouble." 

He  dilated  on  this  fear  until  it  assumed  ugly 
proportions.  Then  he  took  it  to  Rudolf,  who 
merely  laughed,  and  thus  doubled  Sam's  fears,  al- 
ready gigantic. 

The  rehearsal  was  long  and  tedious.  Ruth  was 
very  tired  when  it  was  over.  But  she  was  happy; 
she  felt  that  she  had  done  well.  She  was  a  little 
disappointed,  though,  that  Rudolf  had  not  congratu- 
lated her.  Toward  the  end  of  the  rehearsal  he  had 
gone  out,  and  had  not  returned.  She  wondered 
why  he  had  not  taken  the  time  to  speak  to  her  be- 
fore he  went.  She  said  as  much  to  Lory  as  they 
were  walking  home,  and  added : 

"  I  hope  he  was  satisfied." 

"  Don't  worry,  kid ;  you've  got  Tessie  Darling- 
ton tied  to  a  post.  If  Rudy  is  wise,  he'll  give  you 
the  part  year  after  this.    You're  slick  in  it." 

**  Do  you  mean  that  you  really  think  there  is  a 
chance  of  that  ?  " 

"  Sure  I  do.  I'll  bet  he  will,  too.  How  would 
you  like  that?" 


176    THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE 

"  Why  don't  you  ask  me  how  I  would  like  to 
have  a  million  dollars?"  laughed  Ruth. 

Lory  lost  herself  in  a  brown  study.  "  Say,  Ruth," 
she  said  at  last,  "  did  you  notice  that  kid  on  the 
end  of  the  chorus — the  little  one  in  a  brown  dress?  " 

"  The  little  thin  one?    Yes.    What  about  her?  " 

"  Well,  say,  just  speak  to  her  once  in  a  while, 
will  you?  She's  up  against  hard  luck.  I  was  talk- 
ing to  her,  and,  honest,  I  don't  believe  she's  had 
enough  to  eat  for  a  month.  She'll  appreciate  it 
if  you  talk  to  her  a  little;  she's  sort  of  down  in  the 
mouth.     Her  name's  Mamie  Roberts." 

"  Why,  of  course  I  will.  I'll  look  for  her  to- 
morrow. I'm  glad  you  told  me  about  her.  I  no- 
ticed that  she  looked  as  if  she  was  feeling  blue," 
Ruth  answered.  Then  she  looked  up  slyly  at  Lory. 
"  How  much  did  you  lend  her?  "  she  asked. 

Lory  blushed.  "  Why,  I  offered  her  some  money, 
but  she  didn't  want  to  take  it.  She  said  she  could 
get  along  all  right  till  the  show  began.  It's  a  shame 
that  they  don't  pay  a  girl  while  she's  rehearsing.    I 

think  it's "     Lory  was  working  herself  into  a 

state  of  righteous  indignation. 

"  I  know,"  interrupted  Ruth,  "  but  you  didn't 
answer  my  question."  She  loved  to  catch  Lory  in 
some  of  her  charities,  and  watch  her  squirm  under 
the  exposure. 

"  Well,  I  loaned  her  ten  dollars,  if  you've  got  to 


THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE     177 

know,  but  she  will  pay  it  back  when  she  gets  her 
salary.  I  had  to  give  her  something,  didn't  I  ?  "  she 
demanded  belligerently.  "  I  couldn't  see  the  poor 
kid  starve,  could  I  ?  " 

"  No,  of  course  you  couldn't,  you  dear  old  angel. 
If  it  had  been  your  last  ten  dollars,  you  would  have 
been  unable  to  resist  the  temptation.  But  what  sur- 
prises me  is  that  you  have  escaped  becoming  a  Sis- 
ter of  Charity." 

Lory  grimaced.  "  I'd  look  nice  in  the  duds  they 
wear,  wouldn't  I  ?  " 

Rudolf  and  Jack  came  in  together  after  dinner. 

Ruth  could  not  wait.  "Did  I  do  well?"  she 
asked  Rudolf  almost  before  he  was  inside  the  door. 

"  Indeed  you  did,"  he  answered  gravely ;  "  so 
well,  in  fact,  that  you  have  enabled  me  to  come 
to  a  decision;  you  will  play  the  part  of  Sylvia  this 
coming  season." 

"  Is  this  a  joke,  Rudy?  "  demanded  Jack  sharply. 

"  Rudy ! "  exclaimed  Lory  breathlessly. 

Ruth  stood  speechless. 

"  No,"  he  answered,  smiling,  "  I  am  not  joking. 
Tessie  Darlington  has  asked  to  be  released  from 
her  contract.  She  intends  to  commit  matrimony 
again — this  is  her  fourth  venture,  I  believe — and 
this  time  she  wishes  to  retire  from  the  stage.  From 
the  first  moment  I  met  Miss  Lawson  I  realized  that 


178    THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE 

she  would  make  a  charming  Sylvia,  and  had  it  in 
mind  that,  after  a  year  or  two  of  training,  we  would 
create  a  similar  part  for  her.  Tessie's  ambition 
again  to  become  a  helpmate  forced  my  hand.  Miss 
Lawson's  ability,  however,  is  unquestioned,  and  I 
do  not  regret  the  change.  In  fact,  I  believe  that 
she  will  make  the  play  a  much  greater  success  than 
Tessie  could." 

Ruth  could  hardly  believe  her  ears.  She  sat  down 
and  tried  to  comprehend  her  good  fortune.  It  had 
flashed  upon  her  so  suddenly  as  to  leave  her  dazed. 
She  answered  the  congratulations  of  the  others  as 
in  a  dream. 

"  Just  think  of  it,  kid,"  cried  Lory  excitedly, 
"  you  will  have  your  name  stuck  up  on  all  the  bill- 
boards, and  your  picture  will  be  a  blot  on  the  land- 
scape wherever  we  poor  ordinary  mortals  look. 
When  will  you  have  the  bills  out,  Rudy  ?  " 

"  They  are  all  ready,"  he  answered.  "  To-night, 
even  now,  the  billposters  are  at  work.  I  only 
waited  for  the  rehearsal  to  make  sure." 

"  You  believed  in  me  as  much  as  that  ?  "  asked 
Ruth  in  a  tone  of  wonder. 

"  I  knew  you  could  do  it,"  he  replied. 

"  Gad ! "  said  Jack  to  Lory  in  a  low  tone, 
"  Rudy  is  playing  the  game  with  high  stakes." 

She  nodded.  "  What  do  you  think  about  it  now  ? 
Weren't  we  right  not  to  butt  in  ?  " 


THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE    179 

"If  it  were  anyone  but  Ruth,  I  should  say  we 
were.  As  it  is "  He  shook  his  head  doubt- 
fully. 

Lory  uttered  an  exclamation  of  impatience. 
"  But  think  what  it  means— everything !  " 

"  Oh,  well — I  don't  see  how  we  could  have  done 
any  differently.     Let's  not  think  about  it." 

"  There's  no  use,"  she  agreed;  "  it's  past  us  now, 
anyway," 

The  conversation  became  general  for  awhile,  the 
talk  running  on  plays  and  players,  on  successes  old 
and  new,  on  stars  who  shone  for  a  brief  time  on 
Broadway,  and  then  faded  away  into  oblivion,  and 
of  others  who  were  still  enjoying  the  public's 
favor. 

Ruth  listened  interestedly  to  the  talk  of  the  life 
which  was  now  to  be  hers,  but  through  the  happi- 
ness with  which  her  heart  was  filled,  ran  a  vein 
of  sorrow;  she  wished  that  John  could  be  here  to 
enjoy  her  triumph ;  it  seemed  almost  a  sin  to  be  so 
happy  when  he  was  in  such  a  pitiable  condition. 
Then,  with  the  opportunity  had  come  responsibility : 
she  feared  that  she  might  not  be  able  to  measure 
up  to  Rudolf's  expectations.  When  she  had  to 
face  an  audience  she  might  not  do  so  well  as  she 
had  at  rehearsal. 

Finally  Lory  rose,  and  went  to  the  piano.  "  An 
imitation  of  Miss  Ruth  Lawson,"  she  announced 


i8o    THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE 

in  the  manner  of  the  vaudeville  stage,  "  in  her  suc- 
cess, *  The  Parisian  Milliner  ' !  " 

She  struck  a  few  chords,  and  swung  into  the 
Violet  song,  mimicking  Ruth  to  the  life,  adding 
just  enough  burlesque  to  make  the  thing  funny. 

In  the  laughter  that  followed,  Rudolf  turned  to 
Ruth. 

"  You  see,  Sylvia,  what  it  is  to  be  famous.  You 
are  being  imitated  already.  By  the  way,  you  must 
get  up  early  to-morrow  morning  and  look  out  of 
the  window.  There  is  a  bill-board  across  the  street. 
I  told  them  to  be  sure  to  get  to  it  to-night." 

"  I'll  be  up  at  daylight,"  she  replied,  laughing. 
"  Do  you  hear  that,  Lory  ?  To-morrow  morning 
I  am  to  see  my  name  in  print  for  the  first  time.  I 
feel  very  important.  If  there  isn't  a  crowd  col- 
lected gazing  up  at  it  reverently,  I  shall  be  disap- 
pointed." 

**  If  you're  so  keen  about  the  crowd,"  said  Jack, 
"  I'll  collect  one  myself  and  we'll  all  stand  around 
in  attitudes  of  veneration." 

"  What— at  daylight— you?  " 

"That's  so,"  he  replied,  laughing.  "I  didn't 
think  about  that  clause  in  the  contract.  All  bets  are 
off.  I  like  you,  Ruth,  but  not  enough  to  get  out  of 
bed  at  such  an  unseemly  hour.  However,  Rudy 
can  take  my  place." 

*'  I  beg  to  be  excused,"  said  Rudolf,  "  but  I'll  tell 


THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE     i8i 

you  what  I  will  do.  I'll  telephone  for  my  car  now, 
and  we'll  go  for  a  drive.  It's  moonlight,  you  know. 
If  Sylvia  wants  to,  we'll  manage  to  pass  by  some 
of  the  billboards  which  have  already  been  adorned. 
There's  a  squad  of  men  working  up  on  One  Hun- 
dred and  Twenty-fifth  Street." 

"  I  suppose  it  is  awfully  silly  of  me,"  said  Ruth, 
"  but  I  really  have  a  wild  desire  to  see  how  my  name 
looks." 

"  Nothing  silly  about  that,"  said  Lory.  "  Why, 
the  first  time  I  saw  my  name  on  a  programme,  I  was 
so  crazy  that  I  got  a  lot  of  them,  and  hung  them  up 
on  the  wall,  where  I  could  read  'em  first  thing  every 
morning." 

"  I  never  did  quite  that,"  remarked  Rudolf,  "  but 

the  first  time  *  Rudolf  and  Andrews  present ' 

appeared  on  a  board,  I  followed  the  billposters 
around,  under  pretense  of  seeing  that  the  job  was 
done  correctly,  just  to  exult  in  my  importance.  The 
joke  of  it  was,  that  Sam  was  doing  the  same  thing, 
giving  the  same  excuse  that  I  was.  It  wasn't  until 
about  five  years  later  that  we  admitted  to  each 
other  the  truth." 

**  You  have  a  big  undertaking  on  your  hands, 
Rudolf,"  said  Jack,  when  the  girls  had  left  the  room 
to  prepare  for  the  ride.  "  Do  you  think  you  can 
make  the  public  stand  for  an  unknown  actress  ?  " 

"  I  think  so,"  replied  the  other  easily. 


i82    THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE 

"  Well,  I  hope  she'll  make  a  hit.  She's  a  mighty 
fine  little  girl,  Rudy.  I'd  hate  to  see  her  disap- 
pointed. I  think,"  he  went  on  deliberately,  "  that 
any  man  who  didn't  run  straight  with  a  little  inno- 
cent thing  like  she  is,  ought  to  be  shot."  He  looked 
narrowly  at  the  other. 

"  I  think  so,  too,"  answered  Rudolf  in  a  low 
tone. 

They  were  interrupted  by  the  reappearance  of  the 
girls.  Ten  minutes  later  the  car  drew  up  in  front 
of  the  door,  and  they  all  clambered  in  as  merry  as 
a  group  of  children. 

They  drove  up  Manhattan  Avenue,  and  turned 
into  One  Hundred  and  Twenty-fifth  Street,  and 
there,  near  the  corner,  under  an  electric  light,  was 
the  vanguard  of  fame. 

At  the  sight  of  the  big,  white  letters  on  the  blue 
background,  Ruth's  heart  gave  a  leap.  She  fastened 
her  eyes  on  the  poster,  and,  as  the  car  went  slowly 
by,  the  letters  seemed  to  burn  themselves  into  her 
brain. 

In  one  second,  she  seemed  to  see  all  that  they 
represented.  She  seemed  to  see  her  future  stretch- 
ing out  pleasantly  before  her.  There  would  be 
wealth  and  fame  and  luxury  and  happiness.  And 
then  a  new  thought  leaped  into  her  mind — she  would 
have  the  best  surgical  attention  for  John.  Some- 
where in  the  world  there  must  be  a  surgeon  who 


THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE     183 

could  perform  an  operation  and  cure  him.  She  spoke 
to  Rudolf  about  it. 

"  Do  you  think  it  might  be  done  ?  "  she  asked. 

He  hesitated  a  moment  before  replying.  "  Yes," 
he  said  at  last  in  a  strained  voice.  "  I  think  it  might 
be  done." 

She  was  very  quiet  during  the  rest  of  the  drive, 
thinking  of  this  new  possibility. 


CHAPTER  XX 

Ruth  was  hurrying  up  Broadway,  her  mind  filled 
with  turmoil.  She  had  just  left  Rudolf's  office, 
where  she  had  made  a  terrible  discovery.  During 
her  conversation  with  Rudolf,  Jack  Marshall  had 
come  in,  and  in  the  subsequent  talk  between  the 
two  men  it  developed  that  Jack  Marshall  was  a 
married  man.  Just  how  this  fact  had  been  dis- 
closed, Ruth  could  not  remember;  only  two  things 
stood  out  clearly  in  her  mind:  Jack  was  married, 
and  she  must  tell  Lory.  Ruth  had  escaped  from 
the  office  without  even  waiting  to  excuse  herself. 
Now  she  was  trying  to  decide  what  to  do — how  to 
tell  Lory.  She  shrank  from  inflicting  this  blow  on 
her  friend,  yet  she  realized  that  she  must. 

She  turned  the  corner  of  Forty-second  Street  to- 
ward the  elevated,  and  her  steps  became  slower. 

"  How  can  I  ever  tell  her?  "  she  moaned.  "  Poor 
Lory,  poor,  poor  Lory." 

Then  a  sudden  anger  against  Jack  swept  over 
her.  How  could  a  man  be  so  base  as  to  win  a  girl's 
love  when  he  had  not  the  right  to  marry  her  ?  Won- 
der filled  her  mind  that  a  man  like  Jack  could  do 
such  a  thing.     True,  she  had  thought  him  a  little 

184 


THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE     185 

too  easy-going,  but  that  he  would  descend  to  down- 
right villainy  was  beyond  her  comprehension.  It 
seemed  incredible. 

The  worst  of  it  was  that  Ruth  was  sure  that  Lory 
loved  him  devotedly.  Lory  never  talked  much  about 
her  love,  but  she  showed  it  in  a  hundred  different 
ways — her  deference  to  his  wishes,  her  anxiety  for 
his  comfort,  and  her  eagerness  to  please  him  in  her 
dress.  And,  Ruth  had  always  thought,  Jack  re- 
turned the  love.  He  was  at  the  house  as  much  as 
he  could  be,  and  seemed  happy  in  her  company. 
It  seemed  impossible  that  he  had  been  deceiving  her 
all  the  time. 

Ruth  mounted  the  steps  to  the  station  wearily. 
"  Poor  Lory ! "  she  kept  saying  over  and  over  to 
herself.     "  Poor,  poor  Lory !  " 

As  the  train  swept  her  rapidly  uptown,  her  cour- 
age ebbed  away.  How  could  she  tell  Lory?  How 
could  she  bear  to  see  the  happiness  die  out  of  her 
friend's  face,  to  be  replaced  by  utter  misery?  For 
an  instant  she  was  tempted  not  to  tell  her.  Maybe 
it  would  be  better  to  let  Jack  know  that  she  had 
discovered  his  secret,  and  force  him  to  break  with 
Lory  gradually,  but  in  the  moment  of  its  concep- 
tion she  knew  that  the  plan  was  weak,  that  it  would 
be  no  kindness  to  Lory  to  have  the  pain  long  drawn 
out.    She  must  tell  her  at  once ;  it  was  her  duty. 

Yet,  as  Ruth  descended  to  the  street  after  leav- 


i86    THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE 

ing  the  train,  another  attack  of  cowardice  made  her 
turn  west  toward  Riverside  Drive.  She  walked 
irresolutely  for  several  blocks  before  she  could  force 
herself  to  turn  and  go  toward  the  apartment. 

Lory  had  developed  an  infrequent  longing  for 
cleanliness  that  morning,  and  when  Ruth  reached 
home  she  found  her  engaged  in  vigorously  scrub- 
bing the  kitchen  floor.  Lory  glanced  up  and,  at  the 
sight  of  Ruth's  drawn  face,  sprang  to  her  feet. 

"  What  is  it?  "  she  cried.    "  Rudy  hasn't " 

"No,  no!"  faltered  Ruth.  "  It's— it's  about— 
Jack." 

"Jack!    Is  he  hurt?" 

"  No,"  answered  Ruth,  striving  to  gather  her 
courage  together.  "  Oh,  Lory  dear !  how  can  I  tell 
you  ?    You  poor,  poor  child !  " 

Lory  stared  at  her.  "  Well  ?  "  she  said  impa- 
tiently. 

Ruth  went  over  and  put  her  arm  around  the  other. 
"  Try  to  bear  it  bravely,  dear  heart.  Lory,  he's — 
married  I " 

A  moment  passed,  and  Ruth  strained  the  other 
girl  to  her  breast,  murmuring  sympathetic,  endear- 
ing phrases. 

Suddenly  Lory  burst  into  wild,  hysterical  laugh- 
ter that  grated  on  Ruth's  ears  like  the  clash  of  metal. 
She  endeavored  to  quiet  her,  but  Lory  pushed  her 
aside,  and  darted  into  her  room,   locking  herself 


THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE    187 

in.  In  vain  Ruth  knocked  on  the  door,  and  called 
to  her  friend ;  Lory  would  not  let  her  in. 

Ruth  turned  drearily  to  the  window,  and  stood 
staring  out.  The  day  which  she  had  thought  so 
perfect  that  morning  now  seemed  dark  and  gloomy ; 
the  very  people  passing  in  the  street  below  moved 
as  if  oppressed  with  grief.  She  reproached  herself 
for  not  having  broken  the  news  to  Lory  in  a  more 
gentle  way. 

"  I  should  have  led  up  to  it  more  gradually,"  she 
told  herself. 

Ruth  felt  her  friend's  grief  as  keenly  as  if  it 
had  been  her  own.  She  suffered  intensely.  It 
seemed  as  if  this  terrible  thing  had  struck  into  her 
very  heart.  She  sank  into  a  chair  and  wondered 
what  she  had  better  do  now.  With  Lory,  desperate 
and  stricken,  locked  in  her  room — there  might  be 
a  tragedy.  She  sprang  up  and  went  to  the  'phone. 
She  would  telephone  Rudolf.  Maybe  he  could  help 
her.  Then  the  thought  struck  her  that  Rudolf  had 
known  that  Jack  was  married — must  have  known  it, 
and  had  kept  silent,  had  pretended  to  be  a  friend  of 
Lory's,  and  yet  had  let  her  remain  in  ignorance. 
Ruth  was  staggered  to  think  of  such  treachery.  She 
turned  away  from  the  'phone,  and  looked  uncer- 
tainly around  the  room,  trying  to  decide  on  some 
course  to  pursue. 

At  that  moment  Lory  entered.     She  had  on  her 


i88    THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE 

hat  and  gloves.  A  sudden  fear  that  she  was  going 
to  find  Jack — would  perhaps  do  something  rash, 
gripped  Ruth.  An  exclamation  of  protest  sprang 
to  her  lips,  but  Lory  began  to  speak. 

"  You  must  excuse  me,  Ruth,  for  laughing,"  she 
said  in  a  low  tone,  "  but,  if  you  could  have  seen 
your  face !  "  Her  lips  twitched,  but  she  controlled 
herself  with  an  efifort  and  went  on: 

"  You  see,  dear,  I  knew  that  Jack  was  married — 
I  have  always  known  it." 

Ruth  could  find  no  words. 

"  You  have  made  a  mistake  about  our  relations. 
Jack's  and  mine.  At  times  I  have  thought  that  you 
had  guessed.  At  other  times  I  thought  you  had 
not,  and  knew  that  I  ought  to  tell  you.  It  has  not 
been  a  fair  deal  to  keep  you  in  ignorance.  Yet  I 
did  it  with  the  best  of  intentions.  But  now  it  is 
your  right  to  know.    Ruth,  I  am  Jack's  mistress." 

There  was  silence  in  the  room.  The  clock  on 
the  mantel  ticked  loudly,  its  puny  noise  sounding  like 
the  blows  of  a  hammer  in  the  tense  stillness.  Ruth's 
mind  was  trying  to  comprehend  Lory's  words,  try- 
ing to  adjust  itself  to  the  awful  disclosure.  That 
this  good,  sweet  girl,  Lory,  who  was  so  kind  to 
everybody,  who  had  been  so  kind  to  her,  should  not 
be  a  good  woman, — no,  it  could  not  be,  it  was  not 
to  be  believed! 

"  I  am  not  ashamed  of  it,"  went  on  Lory  with 


THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE    189 

a  trace  of  defiance  in  her  voice.  "  It  began  when 
I  v/as  sixteen  years  old,  not  with  Jack,  with  another 
man.  I  did  not  choose  such  a  Hfe,  I  despise  men. 
If  I  had  been  rich,  I  would  not  have  even  married. 
I  tried  to  make  a  living,  and  failed.  I  worked 
in  a  department  store  for  three  dollars  and  a  half 
a  week  as  a  cash  girl.  You  know  how  far  that  goes 
in  New  York.  Then  I  tried  for  the  stage.  I  met 
with  promises,  and  nothing  else.  I  rehearsed  for 
weeks  without  pay,  only  to  find  that  at  the  end 
I  was  thrown  out.  At  last  I  knew  why;  I  had  no 
pull.  There  was  only  one  way  for  me  to  get  a 
pull,  and  I  took  it.  I  am  not  saying  that  every 
girl  who  goes  on  the  stage  has  to  do  what  I  did. 
I  don't  know.  I  only  know  that  in  my  case  it  was 
that  way  or  none  at  all,  so  I  gave  in.  It  wasn't 
easy — give  me  credit  for  that,  Ruth — I  nearly  cried 
my  eyes  out,  but  I  got  used  to  it.  The  man  was 
good  to  me,  and  gave  me  everything  I  wanted,  and 
helped  me  to  get  a  good  position  on  the  stage. 
After  that  I  might  have  broken  away  and  kept 
straight,  I  suppose,  but  I'd  gotten  used  to  comforts. 
Besides,  I  had  a  bad  name.  It  isn't  easy  for  a 
woman  to  reform,  Ruth." 

She  paused  a  moment  and,  as  Ruth  did  not  speak, 
went  on: 

"  I  met  Jack  about  a  year  ago.  We  like  each 
other.     I  do  everything  to  please  him,  and  he  is 


I90    THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE 

good  to  me.  We  do  not  love  each  other — as  you 
understand  love — but  we  are  happy  when  we  are 
together.  His  wife  does  not  love  him.  She  even 
knows  about  this — not  who  the  woman  is,  but  that 
there  is  somebody.  She  does  not  care.  She  mar- 
ried him  for  money,  and,  as  long  as  he  gives  her  all 
she  wants,  she  is  satisfied.  She  did  not  love  him  even 
before  they  were  married ;  she  was  in  love  with  an- 
other man,  but  because  Jack  was  rich  she  married 
him."  Lory  laughed  hardly.  "  I  really  can't  see 
much  difference  between  us,  only  that  she  sold  her- 
self to  him,  and  then  cheated  him.  And  she  had  no 
excuse,  for  she  was  rich  already,  while  I — ^but  I 
am  not  trying  to  make  myself  out  good,  because 
I  am  not.  I  only  wanted  you  to  know  just  how 
it  happened  that  I  got  into  this  sort  of  thing. 

"  Now,  kid,"  she  continued  kindly,  "  I  have 
told  you  everything,  I  am  going  out  for  a  walk 
now,  and  when  I  come  back  you  can  tell  me  what 
you  want  to  do.  I  would  like  this  to  make  no 
difference  between  us,  but  maybe  you  cannot  feel 
that  way  about  it.  H  you  want  to  stay  here,  I  will 
be  very  glad — more  than  I  can  tell  you — but,  if  you 
feel  that  you  can't,  why,  there  will  be  no  hard  feel- 
ings, only" — there  was  a  trace  of  wistfulness  in  her 
voice — "  don't  think  any  worse  of  me  than  you  can 
help."    Before  Ruth  could  speak  she  was  gone. 

Ruth  sat  with  her  hands  in  her  lap,  staring  at 


THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE    191 

the  carpet.  She  was  face  to  face  with  the  shadow 
that  hung  Hke  a  pall  over  this  horrible  city.  She 
had  seen  it  from  afar  when  she  had  been  seeking 
work  that  first  month  in  New  York;  it  drew  nearer 
when  she  heard  of  it  from  Madge's  lips;  and  now 
Lory  had  brought  it  to  her  very  door.  Lory  had 
confessed  that  she  was  not  a  good  woman,  that 
she  was  one  of  the  class  which  Ruth  had  been 
taught  to  look  upon  as  outcasts,  to  think  of  with 
contempt  and  abhorrence.  Yet  she  could  not  think 
of  Lory  thus;  she  could  not  despise  her.  Why  was 
it?  Was  she  herself  lacking  in  moral  perception; 
was  she,  too,  really  bad  at  heart,  or  were  all  those 
other  people  wrong,  who  had  declared  that  this  one 
sin,  no  matter  how  caused,  should  be  the  line  of  de- 
marcation between  a  good  woman  and  a  bad,  be- 
tween a  woman  worthy  of  the  respect  and  the 
reverence  which  womanhood  inspires  and  a  woman 
who  is  lower  than  the  worst  male  criminal? 

She  sighed  helplessly;  she  could  not  reason  it 
out,  but  her  love  for  Lory  cried  out  to  her  that 
it  was  not  Lory  who  was  to  blame,  but  the  condi- 
tions that  had  forced  her  into  such  a  life  against 
her  will.  Lory  had  been  sorely  tempted,  and  had 
yielded;  the  temptation  had  been  too  strong.  It 
might  not  have  conquered  a  stronger  character — 
Ruth  could  not  know  whether  it  would  have  or 
not — but  Lory  had  probably  struggled  against  it 


192    THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE 

with  all  the  force  of  her  nature,  and  the  wisdom 
of  her  sixteen  years,  and  yet  she  had  succumbed. 

The  story  which  Lory  had  told  Ruth  so  calmly 
was  one  which  should  have  brought  tears  to  the 
eyes  of  both  the  victim  and  the  hearer,  yet  it  had 
not.  Ruth  vaguely  wondered  why  it  had  not.  Was 
it  because  it  was  so  commonplace?  Or  was  the 
whole  world,  herself  and  Lory  included,  so  utterly 
hypocritical  as  to  hold  up  its  hands  in  horror  only 
when  it  suited  it  to?  In  this  connection,  she  re- 
membered a  song  she  had  heard  sung  at  the  theater 
a  few  nights  before. 

The  comedian  had  hinted,  in  words  which  the 
most  unsophisticated  could  not  fail  to  understand, 
at  an  infraction  of  the  seventh  commandment;  and 
the  audience  had  roared  with  laughter,  and  had  de- 
manded an  encore.  Was  it  funny  or  was  it  vile? 
Were  the  audience  right  in  being  amused,  or  should 
they  have  left  the  house  in  a  body?  If  they  were 
ready  to  punish  so  severely  a  woman  who  broke 
the  same  commandment,  then,  Ruth  decided,  they 
should  not  have  laughed. 

From  thinking  of  Lory,  Ruth  passed  on  to 
Madge,  then  to  those  thousands  of  other  women 
who,  like  them,  had  been  driven  into  such  a  mode 
of  living  by  conditions  over  which  they  had  little 
or  no  control,  and,  having  entered,  could  not  get 
out  again.     Of  course  they  could,  if  certain  other 


THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE     193 

conditions  arrayed  themselves  on  their  side,  but 
the  fact  remained  that  the  number  of  women  who 
did  reform  was  very  small.  Ruth  had  once  seen 
a  rat  in  a  trap,  and  a  group  of  men  and  boys  were 
poking  sticks  through  the  wires  to  torture  it.  She 
had  remonstrated  with  them,  and  the  man  who  was 
holding  the  trap  defended  their  action  by  saying, 
"  Serves  the  varmint  right  for  bein'  such  a  fool  as 
to  get  in  there."  Was  not  this  the  attitude  of  the 
world  toward  fallen  women?  Did  it  not,  by  its 
whole  social  and  commercial  system,  set  a  trap  for 
them,  and  then,  once  they  had  entered,  consider 
that  nothing  could  be  too  bad  for  them,  no  scorn 
too  bitter,  no  hate  too  venomous? 

An  hour  passed.  Ruth  sat  without  moving,  or 
lifting  her  eyes  from  the  floor,  and  at  the  end  of 
that  time  she  decided.  She  would  not  judge.  She 
would  not  condemn.  She  would  only  pity  and  love. 
Yes,  that  was  it;  that  was  what  Lory  was  deserv- 
ing of,  what  Madge  and  all  those  others  needed, 
the  two  things  which  they  never  received,  the  only 
things  which  could  help  them,  could  make  them 
better — pity  and  love. 


CHAPTER  XXI 

The  second  week  in  September  was  ushered  in  by 
a  heavy  rainstorm,  which  held  the  city  in  its  down- 
pour for  three  days.  The  leaden  skies  were  filled 
with  clouds,  fast  scurrying  from  the  northeast,  and 
the  raw,  chilly  wind  struck  into  the  marrow.  Bitter 
invectives  against  the  weather  were  heard  on  every' 
side.  Yet  this  condition  had  one  advantage;  it 
opened  a  topic  of  conversation  on  which  everyone 
could  agree;  business,  political,  religious  antagonists 
united  harmoniously  in  cursing  the  weather. 

Ruth  was  happy;  she  was  tasting  the  first  fruits 
of  success,  and  they  were  sweet.  Every  time  she 
saw  her  name  on  a  billboard,  or  came  across  one 
of  many  press  notices  that  Rudolf  was  constantly 
inserting,  her  heart  thrilled  with  an  exultant  joy. 
At  first,  she  was  troubled  because  the  articles  about 
her  were  not  true,  but  she  was  reassured  by  Ru- 
dolf's argument  that  no  one  was  deceived  by  them, 
but  only  interested,  and  that  it  was  a  form  of  ad- 
vertising indulged  in  by  practically  all  of  the  pro- 
fession. So  she  came  to  laugh  heartily  when,  one 
Sunday,  the  entire  front  page  of  the  colored  sup- 
plement of  a  certain  yellow  journal  was  devoted 

194 


THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE     195 

to  a  story  of  her  life,  of  which  not  one  item  was 
true. 

"  The  Parisian  Milliner  "  was  rapidly  rounding 
into  shape.  Out  of  the  chaos  of  the  first  rehearsal 
had  come  order.  Ruth's  work  had  constantly  im- 
proved until  Rudolf  looked  forward  to  the  opening 
night,  now  but  a  day  off,  with  certainty.  Tessie 
Darlington  had  gone  light-heartedly  to  the  altar, 
not,  however,  without  some  jealousy  of  her  suc- 
cessor. Ruth  was  working  very  hard,  yet  there 
were  many  diversions,  and  these  she  now,  in  her 
light-hearted  state,  thoroughly  enjoyed.  There  were 
dinners  at  Sherry's  or  Morini's,  night  automobile 
rides,  when  she  and  Lory,  Rudolf  and  Jack  made 
trips  out  into  the  country,  returning  sometimes  at 
daybreak.  There  were  excursions  to  Sheepshead 
Bay  or  Belmont  Park  to  watch  the  races.  And 
once  they  had  all  gone  to  Coney  Island,  and  ridden 
on  everything,  tried  everything,  with  the  enthusi- 
asm of  a  group  of  children. 

Ruth  was  now  living  at  one  of  the  newer  and 
most  expensive  hotels  in  Manhattan.  Rudolf  had 
insisted  that  this  was  a  form  of  advertising  that 
paid  well,  and  he  also  insisted  on  her  supplying 
herself  liberally  with  clothes,  for  which  he  paid, 
and  charged  up  also  to  advertising.  Ruth  had  in- 
sisted that  all  this  expense  should  be  later  deducted 
from  her  salary.     He  had  protested,  but  she  was 


196    THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE 

firm,  and  he  had  to  acquiesce.  About  this  time,  he 
bought  a  new  car,  a  limousine,  and  placed  it,  in 
charge  of  a  chauffeur,  at  her  disposal.  It  was  all 
like  a  dream,  a  beautiful  fairy  story.  She  was 
showered  with  all  the  luxuries,  the  delights  of  life, 
and  as  yet  had  done  nothing  to  merit  them. 

The  news  from  Harbury  was  the  same.  John  was 
no  better  and  no  worse.  Ruth  had  thought  that  in 
some  of  his  mother's  letters  she  detected  an  under- 
tone of  worry,  and  had  written  asking  if  she  were 
in  need  of  money.  This  was  the  one  thing  which 
Ruth  did  not  have.  Her  salary  would  not  begin 
until  the  play  opened,  and  she  had  steadfastly  re- 
fused Rudolf's  offers  of  loans  under  the  form  of 
an  advance.  She  often  went  for  days  without  a 
dollar  in  her  purse,  but,  as  everything  was  paid  for, 
she  had  little  need  of  money.  John's  mother  had 
written  back,  saying  that  she  had  enough  to  last 
until  Ruth's  salary  began,  and  now  that  time  was 
almost  at  hand.  Ruth  had  planned  to  have  John 
and  his  mother  move  back  into  the  old  house,  and 
much  of  her  time  was  given  up  to  devising  schemes 
for  their  comfort.  She  had  had  one  bitter  disap- 
pointment. She  had  met  a  surgeon  who  bore  an 
international  reputation,  and,  in  the  course  of  a 
conversation  with  him,  had  told  him  about  John's 
case.  He  had  given  her  no  hope  that  an  operation 
would  be  successful.    For  some  days  after  this  had 


THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE     197 

depressed  her,  but,  as  she  had  really  not  given  her- 
self up  greatly  to  hope,  the  disappointment  was  less 
than  it  might  have  been,  and  her  busy  days  left 
little  time  for  useless  regret. 

In  all  this  time,  Ruth  was  constantly  meeting 
people  who  entertained  an  extremely  lenient  view 
of  life,  and  who  lived  by  a  lax  code  of  morals. 
Lory's  disclosure  of  her  relations  with  Jack  had 
opened  Ruth's  eyes,  and  she  saw  and  understood 
far  more  than  she  would  have  before.  If  she  had 
ever  been  the  least  bit  inclined  toward  intolerance, 
at  any  rate  she  was  not  now,  but,  although  she 
looked  upon  the  sins  of  others  with  pity  rather 
than  scorn,  she  still  held  for  herself  the  same  rigid 
moral  code  which  she  had  held  in  Harbury. 

From  all  this  observation  of  life,  she  had  come 
to  realize  that  Rudolf's  attitude  toward  her  was  ex- 
ceptional. Never  had  he  said  one  word  to  her 
which  John  might  not  have  heard  with  complacency 
of  mind.  And  a  feeling  akin  to  love  grew  up  in 
her  heart  for  him.  There  was  nothing  of  passion 
in  this  love;  it  was  rather  the  affection  a  sister 
would  feel  for  an  older  brother,  but  under  its 
sway  she  adopted  an  attitude  of  affection  toward 
the  man,  little  realizing  what  torture  it  constantly 
was  to  him. 

Benjamin  Rudolf  was  harried  by  conflicting  emo- 
tions.    His  discovery  that  Ruth  was  married  had 


198    THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE 

awakened  all  the  evil  in  the  man.  The  love  which 
had  been  a  factor  for  good  now  became  a  factor 
for  bad,  and  yet  the  better  part  of  his  nature,  which 
had  been  aroused  by  the  dream  and  by  Ruth's  in- 
fluence, was  combating  the  evil  sturdily.  He  was 
in  a  state  of  vacillation;  one  day  he  would  decide 
to  carry  out  his  original  intention,  the  next  he  was 
equally  determined  to  play  the  honorable  part. 
Even  the  hours,  the  minutes,  the  seconds  would 
reverse  his  decision.  Sometimes  a  glance  from  her 
eyes,  a  chance  touch  of  her  hand  would  drive  him 
into  a  frenzy  of  passion,  and  then,  at  some  sweet 
seriousness  of  hers,  his  passion  would  die  out  to 
ashes,  leaving  him  sick  and  ashamed.  The  strain 
was  telling  on  him;  he  was  thinner,  and  his  face 
had,  at  times,  a  haggard  look.  Ruth  laid  the 
change  to  the  work  incidental  to  whipping  the  play 
into  shape,  and  knew  nothing  of  the  struggle  going 
on  in  the  man's  soul. 

As  she  came  off  the  stage  on  Tuesday  afternoon 
— the  play  was  to  open  the  next  night — she  found 
Rudolf  waiting  for  her. 

"  Only  one  day  more,"  he  said  cheerfully,  "  and 
then  you  will  dazzle  the  public." 

A  sudden  mistrust  of  herself  swept  over  her. 
"What  if  I  should  fail!  "  she  cried,  turning  white. 

"  You  will  not  fail,"  he  answered  confidently. 

"  But  it  will  be  hard  to  live  up  to  the  reputation 


THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE     199 

you  have  given  me,"  she  protested.  "  If  the  pub- 
lic is  disappointed " 

"  In  this  case,  the  public  will  not  be  disappointed. 
You  are  all  that  I  have  claimed  for  you,  and  more. 
But,  even  if  you  were  not,  the  public  would  think 
you  were.  There  is  not  one  in  a  thousand  of  an 
audience  who  has  an  opinion  of  his  own;  he 
comes  to  the  theater  prejudiced  either  for  or  against 
an  actor.  It  makes  no  difference  whether  the 
actor  is  good  or  bad,  the  result  is  the  same.  I  could 
tell  you  of  dozens  of  cases  where  stars  have  been 
made  simply  by  bluff, — that  is,  advertising,  and 
have  continued  to  live  on  their  reputations  for  years. 
But  in  your  case  we  do  not  need  to  bluff.  I  have 
told  the  public  that  you  are  the  daintiest  comedienne 
on  the  stage,  and  you  are.  I  have  said  that  your 
voice  is  far  beyond  the  average  heard  in  light  opera, 
and  that  you  are  beautiful.     It  is  all  true." 

His  encouragement  restored  her  self-belief. 

She  laughed.  "  Rudy,"  she  cried — she  had 
gradually  dropped  into  the  habit  of  calling  him  by 
the  nickname  which  all  his  friends  used — "  I  fear 
you  are  becoming  a  flatterer." 

He  smiled.  "  And  flattery,  I  believe,  is  labeled 
a  sin.  Wasn't  it  Dante  who  pictured  a  special 
section  in  the  undesirable  portion  of  the  next  world 
reserved  for  those  who  pursue  that  vice  ?  So  I  sup- 
pose you  are  denouncing  me  as  a  sinner." 


20O    THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE 

"  Precisely.  I  can  see  a  place  in  that  special  sec- 
tion yawning  for  Benjamin  Rudolf.  But  do  you 
really  think  I  will  do  all  right?  "  wistfully. 

"  I  refuse  to  answer.  You  forfeited  your  chance 
of  hearing  any  further  praise  from  my  lips  when 
you  maligned  me  in  such  a  cruel  fashion." 

"  You  score !  "  she  laughed.  "  And  now  what 
are  you  going  to  do  about  Mamie  Roberts?  Are 
you  going  to  give  her  a  song  in  the  second  act?  " 

"  The  second  act  has  enough  songs  now." 

"  Please  do,  Rudy.  She  has  worked  so  hard,  and 
she  has  a  good  voice." 

"  If  you  insist,  I  suppose  I  will  have  to,"  he 
grumbled. 

"  Thank  you,"  she  smiled.  "  And  now  about  the 
other  matter — the  rocking-chairs  ?  " 

"  I  have  already  made  arrangements  for  them. 
It  was  a  good  suggestion." 

"  I  think  so." 

"  There  is  no  doubt  about  your  being  a  full- 
fledged  actress;  you  have  begun  to  bulldoze  your 
manager.  Mamie  Roberts  ought  to  be  thankful, 
for  I  am  letting  her  sing  only  because  I  have  to." 

"Where  is  your  boasted  intuition?"  she  rallied. 
"  Now  I  have  enough  to  know  that  she  will  make 
a  hit,  especially  if  you  give  her  that  ingenue  song, 
which  I  like.  Why  don't  you  let  her  sing  that 
one?" 


THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE    201 

"  Oh !  go  ahead,"  he  answered  in  pretended  an- 
noyance; "suit  yourself.  Upset  everything,  and 
spoil  the  whole  play.  Don't  mind  me,  I'm  only  the 
manager,  you  know." 

She  laughed  merrily.  "  What  a  bear  you  could 
be  if  you  tried.  You  have  the  makings  of  an  ideal 
tyrant,  or  a  pirate — yes,  that  is  it;  when  you  frown, 
you  look  just  like  a  pirate." 

"  If  I  were  a  pirate,"  he  answered,  "  I  think  I 
should  be  tempted  to  steal  you  and  carry  you  off 
to  a  desert  island." 

"You — on  a  desert  island?"  she  jeered.  "Re- 
member, there  would  be  no  Broadway,  no  clubs,  no 
champagne.  Rudy,  I  fear  that  you  would  not  be 
happy." 

"  I  would — with  you."    His  tone  was  serious. 

She  looked  up  at  him  quickly,  and  was  startled 
by  the  expression  in  his  eyes.  But  he  instantly 
looked  away,  and  remarked  lightly: 

"  However,  I  guess  I'll  stay  in  New  York  for  a 
while  longer." 

The  conversation  turned  on  the  play,  and  Ruth 
forgot  all  about  the  incident. 

After  Rudolf  had  left  Ruth  at  her  hotel,  he 
walked  back  to  his  office,  his  head  sunk  on  his 
breast. 

"  I  nearly  did  it  that  time,"  he  muttered. 


CHAPTER  XXII 

The  orchestra  was  playing  the  overture. 

The  crowded  house  breathed  with  an  air  of  ex- 
pectancy. For  weeks  Sylvia,  the  daintiest,  most  be- 
witching Sylvia,  had  smiled  down  at  them  from  the 
billboards,  or  laughed  at  them  from  the  cards  in 
the  subway  or  on  the  elevated.  Over  in  New  Jer- 
sey, commuters  had  formed  the  habit  of  looking  up 
from  their  papers  to  catch  a  glimpse  of  her  on  the 
signs  along  the  meadows,  and  promise  themselves 
that,  when  the  play  opened,  they  would  go  to  see 
her  in  the  life. 

As  Rudolf  had  predicted,  the  public  was  over- 
whelmed with  curiosity.  The  seats  for  the  entire 
first  week  had  been  sold  out  ten  days  before  the 
opening.  The  whole  city  knew  of  Ruth  Lawson. 
An  actor  in  vaudeville  could  count  on  always  win- 
ning a  round  of  applause  by  a  casual  mention  of  her 
name,  for  a  New  York  audience  likes  to  hear  an 
allusion  to  some  person  about  whom  they  know;  it 
gives  them  a  sense  of  superiority.  They  say  to 
themselves  with  slangy  complacence,  "  I'm  in  on 
that  one,"  and  look  at  their  neighbors  to  see  if  they 
are  equal  in  knowledge. 

202 


THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE    203 

Behind  the  scenes  all  was  tension.  The  last  re- 
hearsal had  gone  badly.  The  stage  manager  was 
hoarse  from  voicing  his  disgust.  The  principals 
had  acted  like  sticks;  the  chorus  had  danced  like 
wooden  dummies.  Sam  Andrews  had  already  de- 
cided that  the  play  would  be  a  failure,  and  was 
planning  how  to  recoup  the  loss.  His  face  wore 
an  expression  of  deepest  melancholy,  and,  when  Ru- 
dolf rallied  him  about  it,  he  sank  to  even  greater 
depths  of  sorrow  and  made  predictions  with  the 
enthusiasm  of  a  Cassandra.  Rudolf  alone  was  not 
worried.  He  had  seen  so  many  first  nights,  and 
it  was  always  the  same  story.  He  knew  that  the 
poor  rehearsal  was  due  to  the  fact  that  the  com- 
pany was  tired  out,  but  he  also  knew  that,  on  the 
rise  of  the  curtain,  it  would  be  electrified  into  new 
life.  He  believed  in  the  play,  he  believed  in  the 
company  which  he  had  selected,  and  he  had  an  abid- 
ing faith  in  his  good  luck.  He  had  never  yet  put 
on  a  failure,  and  he  was  not  losing  his  grip — not 
yet. 

Ruth  stood  alone  in  the  wings;  Rudolf  had  left 
her  for  a  moment  to  give  a  few  final  directions. 
She  was  twining  her  fingers  nervously  together. 
The  time  had  come.  For  weeks  she  had  been  look- 
ing forward  to  this  moment,  and  wondering  how 
she  would  feel.  Now  that  it  had  come,  she  could 
hardly  realize  it.    Everything  seemed  unreal.     She 


204    THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE 

saw  the  other  people  in  the  cast  hurrying  to  and 
fro,  and  the  stage-hands  giving  the  last  touches  to 
the  scenery,  as  if  they  and  she  were  part  of  a 
dream.  The  property  man,  hurrying  by,  spoke  to 
her,  and  wished  her  luck.  She  nodded  absently. 
Then  suddenly  it  came  to  her  with  the  force  of  a 
blow.  In  a  moment  the  curtain  would  go  up  on 
a  scene  in  a  little  millinery  shop.  The  chorus  would 
sing  a  song,  and  dance.  Then  they  would  sit  down 
in  rocking-chairs — the  rocking-chairs  which  she  had 
suggested — and  rock  gently  back  and  forth  in  time 
to  a  lilting  measure  which  the  orchestra  would  be 
playing  softly.  And  then — she  gasped — then  Sylvia 
would  enter  carrying  a,  lavender  hat-box  tied  with 
a  big  bow  of  white  ribbon.  She  would  be  softly 
humming  to  herself  the  air  which  the  orchestra  was 
playing.  Advancing  to  the  footlights,  she  would 
sing.  What  if  her  voice  should  break!  What  if 
she  should  forget  the  words!  She  tried  to  think 
of  them  now,  but  could  not.  The  perspiration 
broke  out  upon  her  brow.  If  she  could  only  run 
away  from  it  all !  How  foolish  she  had  been  to 
think  that  she  could  stand  up  and  sing  before  all 
those  people!  Then  the  voice  of  Rudolf,  in  con- 
ference with  the  stage  manager,  reached  her  ears. 
He  was  talking  calmly.  The  fact  reassured  her. 
Rudolf  believed  that  she  would  do  all  right,  and 
he  ought  to  know.     Gradually  her  heart  stopped 


THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE    205 

its  thumping,  and  she  began  to  feel  more  confident. 

Rudolf  finished  his  conversation  and  came  over 
to  her. 

"  Well,  Sylvia?  "  he  said  lightly. 

"  I'm  afraid  I'm  awfully  nervous.  Oh,  Rudy ! 
what  if  I  should  fail?" 

It  was  the  same  old  cry,  the  longing  for  encour- 
agement. She  had  said  it  a  hundred  times,  and  this 
time  his  answer  was  as  always : 

"  You  will  not  fail." 

She  smiled  up  at  him.  "  You  are  very  good.  I 
must  tire  you  with  my  foolishness." 

"  Nothing  you  do  ever  tires  me,  Sylvia,  and,  if 
you  should  go  out  there  " — he  waved  his  hand  to- 
ward the  stage — "  and  fail  utterly,  it  would  make 

no  difference  to  me.    Sylvia — I "    He  checked 

himself  suddenly. 

"  There  is  no  such  thing  as  your  failing,"  he 
went  on  in  a  different  tone.  "  There  are  no  more 
people  in  the  audience  now  than  there  were  at  the 
dress  rehearsal.  I  purposely  filled  the  house  then 
so  that  you  would  not  have  to  face  an  audience  for 
the  first  time  to-night.  I  asked  men  about  you, 
men  who  have  been  connected  with  the  stage  for 
years,  men  who  know,  who  .were  anxious  to  chal- 
lenge my  judgment.  They  all  told  me  what  I  knew 
already.  Sylvia,  you  are  a  success.  When  you  go 
on,  the  crowd  will  go  wild  at  the  sight  of  you.    Re- 


2o6    THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE 

member  what  I  say,"  he  went  on  laughingly,  "  be- 
fore you  reach  the  footlights  you  will  have  to  bow 
your  thanks." 

Rudolf  was  not  attempting  prophecy.  He  had 
undertaken  that  enough  of  his  friends — with  in- 
structions— were  scattered  through  the  house  to 
start  the  applause  upon  which  he  relied  to  remove 
all  chances  of  stage  fright. 

"  Oh,  dear !  "  she  exclaimed  suddenly,  "  there 
goes  the  curtain." 

She  listened  breathlessly  to  the  chorus  galloping 
through  the  opening  number,  then  came  the  patter 
of  their  feet  in  the  dance.  A  slight  clapping  of 
hands  followed,  and  then — then  began  the  melody 
that  was  her  cue. 

Rudolf  seized  her  hand.  "  Remember,"  he  said 
earnestly,  "  I  believe  in  you,  Sylvia." 

The  audience  craned  in  an  expectant  hush.  The 
orchestra  played  softly  while  the  chorus  rocked 
slowly  back  and  forth  in  the  little  wicker  rocking- 
chairs.  A  few  in  the  audience  exchanged  glances 
of  appreciation  at  this  innovation.  But  their  eyes 
quickly  turned  back  to  the  stage.  In  a  moment  they 
would  see  the  girl  who  had  been  elevated  to  fame 
almost  in  a  night,  the  girl  who,  without  backing, 
without  experience,  had  induced  the  keenest  mana- 
ger in  America  to  give  her  the  leading  part  in  a 
Broadway  production. 


THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE    207 

Slowly  a  door  at  the  back  of  the  millinery  shop 
opened,  and  through  it  appeared — Sylvia.  A  mur- 
mur of  pleasure  swept  over  the  house.  For  once 
the  advertisements  had  spoken  the  truth;  a  daintier, 
a  more  appealing  picture  than  she  made  in  her  sim- 
ple white  dress,  with  her  curls  peeping  out  from 
under  her  big  lace  hat,  they  had  never  seen.  Just 
inside  the  door,  she  stopped,  and,  with  a  little  frown 
of  vexation,  stooped  to  arrange  the  bow  which  was 
a  little  crooked. 

It  was  so  naturally  done,  so  artistic,  that  it  hid 
the  art.  Rudolf's  friends  were  waiting,  as  he  had 
directed,  for  her  to  get  halfway  down  the  stage, 
so  it  was  not  they  who  started  the  applause  that 
fairly  shook  the  house.  Sylvia  looked  up  in  sur- 
prise. Her  fixing  the  bow  was  not  part  of  the 
play.  In  one  of  those  flashes  of  thought  which 
in  moments  of  tenseness  show  up  some  little  thing 
out  of  all  proportion,  she  had  noticed  that  the  bow 
was  crooked  and  feared  that  it  would  spoil  every- 
thing. At  the  look  of  surprise,  and  the  sight  of 
her  big  brown  eyes,  the  house  redoubled  its  clamor 
of  delight.  Without  speaking  a  line,  without  sing- 
ing a  note,  Sylvia  had  made  her  hit. 

She  was  not  a  bit  afraid  now  of  the  friendly  peo- 
ple out  there  in  front.  She  advanced  with  a  smile 
of  happiness  on  her  face,  and  sang — sang  as  she 
had  done  only  twice  in  her  life  before. 


2o8    THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE 

And  now  the  audience  was  not  only  pleased,  but 
filled  with  a  vast  respect  and  admiration.  At  the 
end  of  the  first  verse,  she  could  hardly  go  on  for 
the  uproar,  but  stood  smiling  and  dimpling  in  the 
most  deliciously  childlike  way. 

And,  as  the  play  went  on,  the  wave  of  success 
mounted  higher  and  higher.  Rudolf,  watching 
from  the  wings,  saw  his  wildest  hopes  fulfilled. 
Sam  Andrews  was  in  a  ferment  of  anxiety  lest 
something  happened  that  they  lose  her.  Sylvia  was 
intoxicated  with  happiness. 

At  the  end  of  the  second  act,  the  audience  de- 
manded a  speech. 

"  Go  out  and  talk  to  them,  Sylvia,"  laughed  Ru- 
dolf. "  You  might  as  well,  first  as  last,  for  they  will 
hold  up  the  play  all  night  unless  you  do." 

"  Oh,  I  can't ! "  she  cried  in  dismay.  "  I  don't 
know  what  to  say." 

"  Say  anything." 

"  I  can't." 

"  You  must,"  he  answered.  "  The  public  de- 
mands it."     He  laughed. 

"  Tell  me  what  to  say,  then ;  quick,  Rudy !  " 

"How  do  I  know  what  to  say?"  he  retorted. 
"  I'm  not  a  footlight  favorite.  I'd  probably  tell 
you  the  wrong  thing." 

"  Please,  Rudy." 

But  he  refused.     He  was  enjoying  her  discern- 


THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE    209 

fiture,  and  he  knew  that  the  audience  would  enjoy 
it.  Anything  she  did  now  would  be  looked  upon 
with  the  greatest  delight. 

The  audience  were  wearing  out  their  gloves  in 
frantic  demand  for  Sylvia  to  make  a  speech  to 
them.  At  last  she  came  out  with  a  frightened  look 
on  her  face.  The  noise  ceased  instantly.  She  stood 
hesitating. 

"  I  thank  you,"  she  began  in  a  quavering  voice, 
"  very  much."  She  seemed  about  to  say  more,  but 
suddenly  turned  and  fled  into  the  wings. 

The  audience  were  immensely  tickled;  it  was  so 
refreshing,  it  pleased  them  to  think  that,  while 
they  were  lost  in  admiration  for  her,  she  was  really 
afraid  of  them.  It  was  a  new  sensation.  "  She 
doesn't  seem  a  bit  like  an  actress,"  they  said  de- 
lightedly to  one  another,  intending  the  highest 
compliment. 

Yet  after  all  it  was  with  the  critics,  the  news- 
paper men,  that  Ruth's  fate  lay,  but  not  in  their 
ranks  either  was  there  any  defection, 

"  By  Jove!  "  said  Addison  of  The  Star  to  Porter 
of  The  Record,  during  the  second  intermission, 
"  Rudolf  has  made  a  find  this  time.  I  came  here 
to-night  to  roast  this  play  to  the  limit.  I  was  going 
to  head  my  article,  *  Amateur  Night  at  the  Ant- 
werp,' but  she's  taken  me  into  camp  without  a  shot 
fired.    Porter,  she's  going  to  set  New  York  crazy." 


2IO    THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE 

"  Yes,"  assented  the  other,  "  no  doubt  about  it, 
and,"  he  continued  gloomily,  "  we'll  be  having  Syl- 
via hats,  Sylvia  gowns,  Sylvia  cigars;  we'll  put  up 
our  money  on  a  horse  named  Sylvia,  and  lose 
it " 

"  What  do  you  think  of  the  show  itself  ? "  in- 
terrupted the  other. 

"  Oh,  fair !  It  would  have  a  moderate  run  with 
anyone  else  in  the  lead,  but  with  this  girl — why, 
she's  the  whole  show,  and  she's  it." 

Lorimer,  of  The  Ledger,  strolled  up.  This  was 
the  most  critical  paper  in  New  York,  and  had  the 
largest  circulation  among  the  solid  classes. 

"Well,  fellows,  how's  the  roast  coming  on?" 

Porter  laughed.  "  Addison  and  I  have  just 
buried  it,  and  are  busy  turning  the  funeral 
meats  into  a  triumphal  feast.  Want  to  join 
us?" 

Lorimer  nodded.  "  She's  way  ahead  of  anything 
I  ever  saw  in  this  line.  I  don't  usually  enjoy  this 
sort  of  thing,  but  I'm  enjoying  myself  to-night. 
Have  you  seen  Jim  Donelly?  I  wonder  what  he 
thinks  about  it  ?  " 

"  I  saw  him  a  few  moments  ago,"  answered  Por- 
ter. "  He's  going  to  write  up  a  great  puff  for 
her." 

"  Then  it's  a  case  of  boost  all  around.  Well, 
I'm  glad.     She  sort  of  gets  hold  of  you  somehow. 


THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE    211 

I  suppose  it's  because  she's  so  small — seems  like 
such  a  kid." 

"This  from  you — and  at  your  age,  Lorimer?" 
exclaimed  Addison.  "  I  think  we  had  all  better 
have  a  drink  after  that.  These  flights  of  senti- 
mentality are  very  often  conducive  to  thirst." 

"  Everything  is — in  your  case,"  retorted  Lori- 
mer, laughing. 

Thus  Ruth  gained  the  success  which  she  had 
come  to  New  York  to  gain.  In  the  morning,  the 
papers  would  be  full  of  her  triumph.  A  new  star 
had  arisen  on  the  theatrical  horizon,  and  bid  fair 
to  shine  the  most  brilliantly  of  them  all. 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

Rudolf  watched  Ruth's  success,  torn  with  inde- 
cision. The  worse  part  of  his  nature  cried  out  to 
him  that  now  he  held  her  in  the  hollow  of  his 
hand;  that  after  this  she  could  never  go  back.  The 
sight  of  her  in  her  dainty  costumes,  the  sound  of 
her  voice,  the  grace  of  her  dancing,  fired  the  man's 
blood.  At  her  approach  he  trembled,  and,  when 
she  left  him,  he  yearned  to  start  after  her  and  seize 
her,  drawing  her  back  to  him. 

And  yet  even  in  the  thought  he  despised  him- 
self for  it.  The  better  part  of  his  nature  was  alert 
and  fighting  valiantly.  It  reminded  him  of  her  ab- 
horrence, her  contempt  when  she  should  know  what 
he  was.  Under  this  fear,  he  told  himself  that  he 
would  be  honorable,  that  he  would  do  the  right 
thing,  and,  even  as  he  said  it,  knew  that  he  did  not 
want  to. 

Two  mighty  forces  were  battling  in  the  man's 
soul,  and  neither  could  win.  Between  the  two  he 
was  torn  as  if  on  a  rack.  Two  months  ago  he 
would  have  taken  the  ignoble  course  without  any 
qualms  of  conscience.  He  would  have  figured  that 
he  had  played  for  high  stakes,  and  won.    He  would 

219 


THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE    213 

have  argued  that,  in  putting  Ruth  on  as  a  star, 
he  had  risked  his  reputation,  and  faced  the  possi- 
bihty  of  a  large  money  loss. 

He  had  played  the  game  with  high  stakes  when 
he  might  have  played  with  low.  He  had  been  gen- 
erous, he  had  given  her  everything  human  heart 
could  wish  for,  fame,  wealth,  the  applause  of  the 
multitude,  surely  no  one  could  expect  him  to  do  all 
this  for  nothing.  He  would  have  felt  that  Ruth, 
struggle  as  she  might  against  the  sin  at  first,  would 
become  used  to  the  changed  conditions,  and  would 
in  time  recognize  that  he  had  not  been  unfair.  Two 
months  ago  he  would  have  argued  in  this  way  if 
he  argued  at  all,  and  possibly  two  months  hence, 
under  the  continued  sway  of  Ruth's  influence,  he 
might  be  able  to  carry  out  the  renunciation  which 
his  better  nature  cried  out  to  him  to  make,  but  which 
he  had  not  the  force  of  character  to  do.  His  life 
up  to  this  time  had  not  been  such  as  to  stiffen  his 
moral  fiber  to  the  state  in  which  it  would  find 
renunciation  easy. 

So  the  two  forces  strove  together,  and  neither 
could  gain  an  advantage.  But  Rudolf  had  pro- 
gressed far  enough  on  the  upward  path  to  be  de- 
termined to  keep  his  baser  nature  in  check  as  long 
as  he  possibly  could.  Thus  the  scales  were  evenly 
balanced,  and  a  very  little  circumstance  would  tip 
them  one  way  or  the  other. 


214    THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE 

Rudolf  was  standing  by  the  car,  waiting  for  Ruth 
to  come  out.  Unable  to  bear  the  sight  of  her  any 
longer,  he  had  left  the  theater,  yet  he  was  not 
strong  enough  to  forego  the  ride  home  with  her. 
He  knew  that  he  ought  to  plead  sickness,  and  take 
his  way  alone;  he  knew  that  he  was  putting  himself 
in  the  way  of  temptation  that  he  was  scarcely 
strong  enough  to  resist,  but  he  deceived  himself 
with  the  fallacy  that  it  would  be  cowardly  to  run 
away.    So  he  waited,  trembling  with  excitement. 

Finally  Ruth  came  out  of  the  theater. 

"  I  have  been  looking  everywhere  for  you,  Rudy," 
she  said.  "  I  couldn't  imagine  where  you  had  gone. 
Wasn't  it  splendid !  I  never  have  been  so  happy 
in  my  life.  And  didn't  Mamie  Roberts  do  well? 
Now  admit  that  I  was  right  about  her." 

"  And  I  was  right  about  you,"  he  answered,  as 
he  helped  her  into  the  car  and  took  his  seat  beside 
her.  "  I  said  you  would  make  a  hit,  and  you  did. 
Only  you  did  even  better  than  I  hoped  for." 

"  I'm  so  glad,"  she  said,  "  for  your  sake  as  well 
as  my  own.  People  have  been  saying  horrid  things 
about  you.  I  have  overheard  them  from  time  to 
time,  and  now  they  will  have  to  take  them  back, 
won't  they?  I  heard  one  man  say  you  were  crazy 
to  give  me  the  part "     She  laughed  happily. 

The  car  turned  toward  the  hotel. 

"  Let's  go  around  Central  Park,"  suggested  Ruth. 


THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE    215 

"Tm  much  too  happy  to  sleep,  and  I  would  like 
the  fresh  air." 

He  gave  the  directions  to  the  chauffeur,  one  side 
of  his  nature  exulting,  the  other  warning  him  that 
he  ought  to  make  some  excuse.  His  heart  was  beat- 
ing violently  now.  Every  word  she  spoke  added 
to  his  passion.  He  dared  not  look  at  her,  for  fear 
he  would  lose  control  of  himself  completely.  He 
sat  staring  straight  in  front  of  him,  one  hand  grip- 
ping the  window  sill,  the  other  clenched  in  his  lap, 
and  all  the  while  a  voice  within  was  crying :  "  Fool, 
fool !    Take  her — she  is  yours !  " 

He  listened  vaguely  to  her  talk  about  her  suc- 
cess, and  replied  mechanically.  His  voice  sounded 
far  away  to  his  own  ears. 

Ruth  was  too  excited  to  notice  his  strange  de- 
meanor. She  had  gained  success !  She  lived  every 
moment  of  the  play  over  again,  glorying  in  it.  She 
heard  the  applause  that  had  greeted  her  every  ac- 
tion. It  had  been  a  triumph  without  a  flaw,  and 
it  was  she,  Ruth  Lawson,  who  had  accomplished  it. 
It  seemed  hard  to  believe  that  it  was  she  who  had 
done  it.  How  she  would  have  laughed  six  months 
ago,  if  anyone  had  told  her  that  to-night  she  would 
be  a  star,  and  yet  it  was  true.  She  had  come  to 
New  York  poor  and  friendless,  and  to-night  she 
stood  at  the  very  top,  and  yet,  even  amid  all  her 
happiness,  there  was  room  for  a  pang  of  sorrow 


2i6    THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE 

for  Lory,  for  Madge,  for  all  those  others  who  had 
failed.  She  realized  that  she  oWed  her  success 
largely  to  circumstances,  the  chance  meeting  with 
Lory  on  the  train  had  been  the  beginning,  and  since 
then  every  circumstance  had  been  in  her  favor. 
Even  her  failure  in  finding  work  had  been  propi- 
tious. Everything,  since  she  had  left  Harbury, 
had  helped  her  on  unerringly  to  her  success.  And 
how  much  she  owed  to  this  man  beside  her!  It 
was  he  who  had  given  her  the  chance,  who  had 
made  all  this  possible.     She  turned  toward  him. 

"  Rudy,"  she  said  in  a  low  tone,  "  I  wonder  if 
you  know  how  much  I  appreciate  what  you  have 
done  for  me  ?  *' 

He  did  not  answer,  and  she  looked  at  him  won- 
deringly. 

"  What  did  you  say  ?  "  he  asked  a  moment  later. 
"  I  was  thinking " 

"  You  are  not  very  polite,  Rudy,"  she  laughed. 
"  I  was  thanking  you  for  all  you  have  done  for 
me." 

"  Oh— that's  all  right." 

They  relapsed  into  silence.  The  car  swept  on, 
gained  the  upper  end  of  the  park,  and  turned  to- 
ward home.  So  far  his  better  nature  had  kept  him 
in  check,  but  Rudolf's  face  was  bathed  in  perspira- 
tion, and  the  cool  air  blowing  in  through  the  win- 
dow brought  no  assuagement  to  the  fever  that  was 


THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE    217 

devouring  his  body.  But  he  was  not  unhappy;  a 
joyful  intoxication,  induced  by  her  nearness,  by 
the  fact  that  she  was  his  for  the  taking,  coursed 
through  his  veins,  and  filled  him  with  a  savage  joy. 
And  always  within  him  echoed  the  cry :  "  Fool ! 
fool !    Take  her — she  is  yours !  " 

The  car  sped  rapidly  onward,  and  dashed  out  of 
the  Fifty-ninth  Street  entrance  into  Fifth  Avenue. 

"  Almost  home  now ;  you  are  doing  well,"  com- 
mended his  better  nature. 

"  You  are  letting  your  best  chance  go  by,"  jeered 
the  voice.    "  Fool !  fool !  " 

The  car  swept  down  the  almost  deserted  avenue. 
Suddenly  another  car  darted  around  the  corner  of 
a  cross  street.  Rudolf's  chauffeur  averted  a  col- 
lision only  by  a  lightning  swerve  to  the  left.  Ru- 
dolf was  flung  violently  against  the  side  of  the  car, 
and  Ruth  was  thrown  over  against  him. 

At  the  touch  of  her  body,  the  man's  passions 
leaped  all  bounds.  The  jeering  voice  was  now  one 
of  command.  All  thoughts  of  honor,  all  fears  of 
her  abhorrence,  were  swept  away.  His  mind  held 
but  the  one  primal  instinct — he  loved  this  woman 
and  he  would  have  her.  He  seized  her  roughly,  cov- 
ering her  face,  her  hair,  with  wild,  passionate  kisses. 

"  I  love  you,"  he  breathed  hotly  in  her  ear.  "  I 
love  you." 

For  a  moment  Ruth  was  robbed  of  action  by  the 


2i8    THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE 

suddenness  of  the  attack;  she  lay  passive  in  his 
arms.  Then,  with  a  wild  cry,  she  struggled  to  free 
herself.     He  laughed  hoarsely. 

"  I  love  you,"  he  repeated  over  and  over  again. 

"  Let  me  go,"  she  implored  piteously.  "  Please 
let  me  go." 

He  released  her,  but  retained  her  hand  in  his, 
while  his  burning  eyes  devoured  her  face.  She 
shrank  back  in  the  corner  of  the  seat,  her  eyes 
dilated  with  horror. 

"  I  love  you !  "  he  cried  chokingly.  "  I  would 
have  asked  you  to  be  my  wife.  That  afternoon 
when  you  told  me — I  would  have  asked  you  then. 
When  I  found  out,  I  meant  to  give  you  up.  ...  I 
tried  hard,  but  I  can't.  I  swear  that  I  will  hold 
you  as  sacredly  my  wife  as  if  there  had  been  a 
ceremony  performed  in  a  church.  I  will  do  any- 
thing you  wish.     We  will  go  abroad — anything." 

Ruth  shrank  further  away  from  him. 

"Will  you,  Sylvia?"  pleaded  the  man.  "Say 
that  you  will.  If  you  wish,  you  can  remain  on  the 
stage.  Backed  by  my  influence,  your  name  will  be 
known  all  over  this  country,  through  Europe.  And 
no  one  need  know." 

At  the  tortured  expression  on  his  face,  she 
checked  the  scornful  words  that  sprang  tumultu- 
ously  to  her  lips. 

"  You  think  I  would  do  this  ?  "  she  said  sadly. 


THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE    219 

"  You  know  me  so  little  that  you  think  I  would  do 
this?" 

"  Why  not  ?  "  he  demanded  passionately.  "  Are 
there  not  thousands  of  women  who  do  not  consider 
a  few  words  spoken  in  church  paramount  to  every- 
thing else?  If  you  were  free,  I  would  marry  you. 
Instead,  you  are  married  to  a  man  who  is  worse 
than  dead,  who " 

She  interrupted  him  coldly.  "  I  have  been  gen- 
tle with  you,  because  I  felt  that  you  could  not 
know  what  your  proposal  would  mean  to  me,  but 
I  warn  you  that,  if  you  persist,  you  will  raise  up 
a  barrier  between  us  which  can  never  be  lowered." 

"  I  have  not  been  ungenerous,"  he  pleaded. 
"  Your  success  to-night — does  it  mean  nothing  to 
you?" 

"  If  this  is  the  price,  no!"  she  answered  scorn- 
fully. 

His  anger  flared  up.  "  I  love  you,"  he  said  dog- 
gedly, "  and  I  will  have  you." 

She  flashed  at  him  a  look  of  contempt,  which 
made  him  shrink  back. 

He  started  to  say  something,  but  suddenly  the 
car  drew  up  in  front  of  the  hotel.  Ruth  opened 
the  door,  and,  springing  out,  ran  quickly  into  the 
building. 

The  half-finished  sentence  died  on  his  lips.  He 
stared  after  her,  stung  to  the  quick  by  her  action. 


1 


220    THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE 

His  passion  fell  from  him,  leaving  him  cold  with 
shame.  In  a  flash  of  illumination  he  realized  what 
he  had  done,  saw  himself  for  what  he  was,  knew 
that  his  next  sentence  would  have  been  a  threat. 
He  sank  back  in  his  seat,  passing  a  hand  wearily 
across  his  eyes. 

"  God!  "  he  muttered;  then  again,  "  God!  " 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

Lory  and  Jack  were  waiting  in  Ruth's  apartments 
for  her  return.  They  had  watched  her  success  with 
deep  joy  in  their  hearts.  Now,  as  they  waited,  they 
talked  of  the  exquisite  Sylvia  she  had  made,  of  the 
reception  the  audience  had  given  her,  of  her  future 
in  the  profession,  of  the  success  of  Rudolf's  scheme 
of  advertising,  but  neither  voiced  the  thought 
which  was  uppermost  in  their  minds. 

Finally  they  heard  her  at  the  door,  and  sprang 
up  with  words  of  congratulation  on  their  lips,  but 
at  the  sight  of  her  face  the  words  remained  unut- 
tered.  Lory  threw  Jack  a  meaning  glance,  and, 
with  a  muttered  excuse,  he  left  the  room,  and  a  mo- 
ment later  a  closing  door  announced  his  departure 
from  the  apartments. 

Ruth  sank  wearily  into  a  chair.  Lory  knelt  by 
her  side,  and  threw  an  arm  around  her. 

"  Don't  try  to  tell  me,  dear.     I  know  already." 

Ruth  turned  a  wondering  glance  on  her.  **  You 
— know  already  ?  " 

"  I  have  known  from  the  first,  ever  since  Ru- 
dolf offered  you  a  special  position  in  *  The  Pari- 

831 


222    THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE 

sian  Milliner.'  Ruth,  men  like  Benjamin  Rudolf 
do  not  do  that  kind  of  thing  for  nothing." 

Ruth  sprang  up,  and  pushed  the  other  away. 

"You  knew  this?"  she  said  bitterly.  "And 
you  let  me  go  on — ^you,  whom  I  thought  my 
friend!" 

Lory  rose,  "  Listen,  Ruth,"  she  said  quietly. 
"  Hear  what  I  have  to  say,  first,  and  then  you  can 
judge.  You  were  poor,  you  had  to  have  money. 
Jack  and  I  had  tried  every  other  manager  in  New 
York,  and  there  seemed  to  be  no  chance  of  get- 
ting you  on.  There  were  hundreds  of  other  girls 
who  had  experience  and  more  pull.  Then  Rudolf 
made  the  offer.  Maybe  you  remember  that  we  did 
not  act  altogether  pleased  because  he  gave  you  a 
special  position;  we  knew  what  that  meant.  Well, 
after  you  had  gone  to  bed  that  night,  we.  talked 
it  over.  We  did  not  know  whether  we  ought  to  tell 
you  or  not.  We  knew  that,  if  we  did,  you  would 
throw  the  whole  thing  over.  What  would  you  have 
done  then?  I  had  a  hard  time  to  get  you  to  live 
with  me  just  for  the  summer,  and  it  was  only  by 
promising  that  you  would  have  a  position  in  the 
fall,  so  that  you  could  pay  me  back,  that  you  con- 
sented at  all.  Jack  said  he  was  willing  to  pay  your 
expenses  if  you  would  continue  to  live  with  me,  but 
I  knew  you  would  not  do  it.  I  had  bluffed  that 
I  could  get  you  a  job,  and  I  was  at  my  wits'  ends 


THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE    223 

to  know  how  to  make  good.  Then  Rudolf  turned 
up.  We  knew  that,  if  he  put  you  on,  he  would 
give  you  a  good  send-off,  and  give  you  a  chance  to 
show  what  you  had  in  you.  To-night  proved  that 
we  were  right  in  that.  If  there  had  been  any  other 
mortal  thing  for  you  to  do,  it  would  have  been  dif- 
ferent, but  you  never  could  have  gotten  a  job 
which  would  pay  you  as  much  as  you  needed,  any- 
where else  but  on  the  stage.  You  had  to  have 
money,  and  this  was  your  only  chance.  We  may 
have  done  wrong,  I  don't  know,  but  we  did  the 
only  thing  it  seemed  possible  to  do." 

Ruth  listened  in  silence.  "  I  understand,"  she 
said  at  last,  with  a  great  weariness  in  her  voice. 
"  You  did  only  what  you  thought  best.  Perhaps  it 
was  best." 

Lory  was  filled  with  surprise  that  Ruth  took  it 
so  easily.  She  was  also  very  much  relieved.  She 
had  expected  hysterics  and  a  scene.  She  was  glad 
that  Ruth  was  ready  to  bow  to  the  inevitable.  As 
long  as  it  had  to  be,  there  was  no  use  of  making  a 
fuss  about  it. 

"  Well,  anyway,"  she  said  cheerfully,  "  you  have 
made  a  big  hit,  the  biggest  I  ever  saw.  Rudy  cer- 
tainly spread  himself;  you  must  give  him  credit  for 
that." 

Ruth  flung  her  head  up  proudly.  "  I  give  Benja- 
min Rudolf  credit  for  nothing,"  she  said  coldly. 


224    THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE 

"  It  was  a  trap,  a  trap  deliberately  prepared.  I 
thought  at  first  that  it  was  a  moment  of  madness. 
I  could  have  forgiven  that.  But  now  that  I  know 
the  truth,  I  shall  have  nothing  more  to  do  with 
him.  Even  while  I  am  playing  in  '  The  Parisian 
Milliner,'  I  will  not  speak  to  him  if  I  can  help  it." 

Lory  stared  at  her.  Twice  she  started  to  speak, 
and  twice  she  hesitated.    At  last  she  stammered : 

"  Is  it  possible  that  you  do  not  understand 
now?  " 

"  Understand — understand  what  ?  " 

"  Ruth,"  said  Lory  in  a  low  tone,  "  you  speak 
of  your  playing  in  '  The  Parisian  Milliner.'  Don't 
you  understand,  you  will  not  be  allowed  to  play 

in  *  The  Parisian  Milliner '  unless You  speak 

of  traps — '  The  Parisian  Milliner  '  is  the  bait.  Do 
you  understand  now  ?  " 

Ruth  looked  bewildered.  "  But  the  contract — he 
has  signed  a  contract." 

"  It  is  not  worth  the  paper  it's  written  on.  Un- 
less you  have  money  to  fight  a  case  in  court,  a  con- 
tract is  worthless." 

A  look  of  utter  horror  dawned  in  Ruth's  eyes. 
"  You  mean ?  "  Then  she  remembered  Ru- 
dolf's words,  "  I  love  you  and  I  will  have  you." 

Was  it  possible  that  he  was  so  vile !  At  last  she 
was  face  to  face  with  the  shadow.  Now  she  knew 
how  Madge  had  felt — Lory — all  those  others.     If 


THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE    225 

she  refused,  it  would  mean  the  end  of  her  suc- 
cess in  "  The  Parisian  Milliner."  All  her  hopes, 
all  her  dreams,  her  happiness,  would  vanish.  She 
had  been  allowed  to  taste  of  all  the  good  things 
of  life,  only  to  have  them  wrested  from  her.  For 
a  moment,  she  thought  of  yielding,  but  only  for  a 
moment.  Then  she  stiffened  herself  against  the 
blow. 

"  I  will  leave  '  The  Parisian  Milliner '  then,"  she 
said  in  a  stifled  voice.  "  I  will  get  another  position. 
I  proved  to-night  that  I  have  ability." 

Lory  shook  her  head.  "  Not  another  manager 
in  New  York  would  dare  give  you  a  position.  Ru- 
dolf would  sue  them  if  they  did,  under  the  pretense 
that  you  had  broken  your  contract  with  him.  It 
wouldn't  be  the  first  time  a  thing  like  that  has  hap- 
pened. You  remember  Dolly  Martin?  Well,  it 
happened  to  her  for  one." 

Ruth  could  feel  the  shadow  closing  in  about  her, 
but  still  she  struggled.  She  would  give  up  every- 
thing, she  would  go  back  to  poverty,  before  she 
would  consent  to  this  thing. 

"  I  will  leave  the  stage,"  she  said  in  a  strained 
voice.  "  I  will  look  for  a  position  in  some  other 
line.  I  know  more  now  than  when  I  came  to  New 
York,  and  I  have  more  friends.  Maybe  some  of 
them  can  help  me.    I  will  try  again." 

Lory  could  not  understand  this  sacrifice  of  all 


226    THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE 

for  a  principle,  but  she  respected  Ruth's  feelings. 

"  All  right,  kid,"  she  said  cheerfully.  "  If  that's 
what  you  want  to  do,  why,  we'll  try  our  best  to 
find  you  something.  It  will  be  easier  now  than  it 
was  last  summer.  We  may  strike  something  pretty 
good,  after  all,  only — you  are  sure  you  want  to  give 
it  all  up?" 

"  Yes." 

"  All  right,  then,  but "   She  sighed.   "  By  the 

way,"  she  went  on,  "  there's  a  letter  on  the  table 
from  Harbury.  It  must  have  come  after  you  went 
to  the  theater." 

At  the  mention  of  Harbury,  Ruth  started.  In 
the  excitement  of  the  moment,  she  had  not  thought 
of  what  the  change  in  her  plans  would  mean  to 
John  and  his  mother.  She  picked  up  the  letter,  and 
tore  it  open  mechanically.  As  she  read,  every  ves- 
tige of  color  died  out  of  her  face,  and  she  clutched 
at  the  table  with  a  trembling  hand  for  support. 
At  last  the  letter  fluttered  from  her  nerveless  fin- 
gers to  the  floor.  With  a  cry  of  anguish,  she  sank 
into  a  chair,  and  buried  her  face  in  her  hands. 

"  What  is  it  ?  "  gasped  Lory.  "  For  God's  sake, 
tell  me  what  is  the  matter !  " 

Ruth  motioned  toward  the  letter.  Lory  picked 
it  up  and  read.  It  was  a  pitiful  letter.  John's 
mother  did  not  want  to  bother  Ruth,  but  the  money 
had  given  out.     She  had  tried   to  keep  the   fact 


THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE    227 

from  her,  but  now  the  neighbors  had  decided  that 
John  must  go  to  the  asylum,  and  she  to  the  poor- 
house.  She  had  told  them  of  Ruth's  coming  salary, 
but  their  disapproval  of  the  stage  as  a  profession, 
coupled  with  an  incredulity  that  anyone  whom  they 
had  known  could  be  possessed  of  talent,  had  only 
strengthened  them  in  their  determination. 

Ruth  hardly  heard  Lory's  words  of  sympathy. 
At  last  the  shadow  had  enveloped  her;  there  was 
no  escape.  Benjamin  Rudolf  had  laid  the  trap  and 
circumstances  had  arrayed  themselves  on  his  side. 
There  was  only  the  one  thing  to  do  now;  the  path 
stretched  out  in  front  of  her.  On  either  side  were 
walls  impossible  to  surmount.  She  could  not  turn 
aside,  she  could  not  go  back;  she  could  only  go 
forward.  It  was  not  a  question  of  choice,  it  was 
not  a  question  of  right  or  wrong;  had  she  been  the 
purest  woman  on  earth  or  the  most  vile,  it  made 
no  difference.  Had  she  been  possessed  of  the 
strongest  character  or  the  weakest,  the  result  must 
be  the  same.  Nothing  made  any  difference  except 
money — she  must  have  that.  She  had  been  through 
the  asylum  near  Harbury.  She  had  not  recovered 
from  the  effects  of  the  visit  for  weeks.  At  night 
she  would  wake  up  to  shudder  at  the  sights  she 
had  seen  there,  of  the  sounds  she  had  heard.  Ru- 
mors had  come  to  her  ears  of  crimes  committed 
there,  crimes  excused  in  the  name  of  necessity, 


228    THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE 

sheltered  under  the  guise  of  legaHty.  Hiram  Marsh 
had  died  suddenly  while  in  the  asylum.  The  doc- 
tors had  given  a  long-sounding  Latin  name  as  the 
reason  for  his  death,  but  it  leaked  out  that  his  body 
was  a  mass  of  bruises,  and  there  was  an  ugly  cut 
on  his  head.  John  had  believed  with  many  others 
around  Harbury  that  he  had  been  beaten  to  death. 
There  had  been,  at  the  time,  intense  excitement,  and 
threats  of  an  exposure,  "but  it  had  all  died  down, 
and  nothing  was  ever  done.  Nor  did  the  poorhouse 
bear  a  much  better  reputation.  She  must  save  John 
and  his  mother  at  any  cost. 

Not  for  herself  would  she  have  made  the  sacri- 
fice, not  to  save  her  body  from  torture  would  she 
have  consented  to  follow  the  path.  Willingly  she 
would  have  given  up  everything,  willingly  would 
she  have  undergone  any  privation  and  want,  to 
escape  this  thing.  The  very  thought  of  it  turned 
her  sick  with  horror,  her  soul  shriveled  within  her. 
Yet  for  John  and  his  mother — yes;  she  would  do 
it  for  them. 

And  in  that  moment  she  seemed  to  see  the  vast 
army  of  women,  the  women  who  are  passed  by 
on  the  street  with  a  sneer,  who  are  looked  upon 
with  loathing,  for  whom  no  one  has  a  word  of  sym- 
pathy, whom  all  believe  to  be  following  the  path 
because  it  is  easy  and  pleasant.  She  seemed  to  look 
into  their  aching  hearts  masked  under  the  smiles 


THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE    229 

on  their  painted  faces,  and  read  there  the  truth, 
deadened  though  it  might  be  by  the  bitterness  of 
their  fate.  And  now  she  was  to  become  one  of  their 
number.  It  did  not  seem  possible,  it  could  not  be 
true!  She  looked  back  over  her  happy  girlhood, 
her  marriage  with  John,  and  their  life  together. 
She  remembered  little  instances  replete  with  joy  and 
love  and  innocence.  Not  one  thing  in  all  her  life 
pointed  toward  this,  yet  this  was  the  end  of  it  all. 
Utterly  unsuspecting,  utterly  undeserving,  she  had 
been  caught  in  the  grip  of  circumstance,  against 
which  her  most  frantic  struggles  would  be  useless, 
vain. 

Yes;  this  was  the  end  of  everything.  For  her 
there  could  be  no  more  hope,  no  more  joy,  no  self- 
respect.  She  would  be  dead  in  the  midst  of  life. 
Her  life,  her  real  life,  would  end  here,  now.  Hence- 
forth she  would  be  a  puppet,  acquiescent  to  fate.  She 
would  not  struggle;  she  was  through  with  all  that. 
Like  Madge,  she  had  done  her  best,  and  failed.  For 
her  failure,  she  was  punished,  and  the  punishment 
was — this ! 

Then  a  great  bitterness  surged  up  in  her  heart. 
Where  was  God  that  he  would  allow  such  things? 
Could  it  be  possible  that  he  was  the  ruler  of  the 
world,  and  yet  looked  down  serenely  while  his  chil- 
dren were  forced  into  torture  by  circumstances? 
What  were  these  circumstances?    Were  they  a  re- 


230    THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE 

suit  of  blind  chance,  were  human  beings  but  pup- 
pets at  the  mercy  of  chance  happenings,  endowed 
with  character,  consciences,  only  as  a  mockery? 
She  had  lived  a  right  life;  she  had  been  true  to 
herself,  to  her  fellow-beings,  and  to  her  Maker. 
Was  this  her  reward  ?  She  seemed  to  see  the  whole 
human  race  a  multitude  of  chips  tossed  about  on  a 
raging  torrent.  Some  caught  in  the  current  in  the 
middle  of  the  stream  bobbed  serenely  on  toward  the 
goal;  others,  gripped  by  eddies,  were  thrown  upon 
the  shore  helpless  and  devoid  of  the  power  to  con- 
tinue the  journey.  Still  others  were  caught,  as  she 
was  caught,  in  whirlpools  and  drawn  down  into 
the  muddy  depths.  For  a  while  she  also  had  been 
one  of  the  fortunate  chips  borne  onward  by  the 
main  current.  Had  nothing  intervened,  she  would 
even  now  be  sailing  placidly  on,  all  unknowing  of 
the  eddies  and  whirlpools  which  proved  so  disas- 
trous to  others.  She  would  have  scoffed  at  their 
power,  would  have  believed  that  it  was  she  who  was 
steering  her  course  so  grandly,  would  have  been 
self-complacent  that  she  was  better,  more  skillful, 
than  the  other  chips.  And  John — he  was  one  of 
those  thrown  upon  the  shore,  while  yet  his  voyage 
was  hardly  beginning.  He  had  thought  himself 
strong  and  self-reliant  and  powerful,  had  scoffed 
at  the  power  of  the  current  to  do  aught  else  but 
bear  him  on  wherever  it  pleased  him  to  go.     In  a 


THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE    231 

moment  he  had  been  cast  aside,  while  the  stream 
swept  on. 

She  wondered  dimly  what  had  been  the  begin- 
ning of  it  all.  Where  had  the  current  which  was 
now  sucking  her  down  into  the  whirlpool  first  been 
felt  ?  Was  it  when  she  had  met  Rudolf,  or  further 
back  when  she  had  smiled  at  Lory  in  the  train, 
or  was  all  this  the  result  of  John's  accident  ?  Maybe 
the  beginning  was  even  further  back  still,  when 
John  had  bought  Prince.  There  was  a  chain  of  cir- 
cumstances, composed  of  little  links,  a  chain  which 
would  have  been  incomplete  without  any  one  of  the 
links,  but,  as  a  whole,  it  bound  her  so  that  she  could 
not  escape  its  remorseless  grip. 

When  Ruth  at  last  spoke,  her  voice  was  lifeless. 
"  Please  look  up  Benjamin  Rudolf's  telephone 
number." 

"  What  are  you  going  to  do?  "  asked  Lory  in 
agitation. 

"  I  must  have  money  at  once.  I  will  ask  him 
to  telegraph  it  to  Harbury  for  me." 

"Then ?" 

"  Can  you  ask,  after  reading  that  letter?  " 


CHAPTER  XXV 

It  was  twenty  minutes,  twenty  long  minutes  of  ex- 
quisite torture  to  the  distracted  woman  before  Ben- 
jamin Rudolf  arrived,  and  at  the  end  of  this  time 
she  had  relapsed  into  a  waking-dream  state. 

At  the  sound  of  his  quick  step  outside  her  door 
and  then  his  knock,  she  felt  herself  rise  and  throw 
open  the  door.  Something  told  her  that  she  must 
play  her  part;  must  carry  out  her  side  of  the  bar- 
gain. She  was  to  sell  herself  for  money,  money  for 
John  and  his  mother.  She  must  appear  attractive, 
otherwise  Rudolf  might  repudiate  his  bargain  be- 
fore it  was  made. 

Strangely  enough,  her  New  England  conscience, 
going  off  at  a  tangent,  told  her  that  no  matter  what 
this  man  had  done,  no  matter  how  he  had  trapped 
her,  no  matter  how  vile  he  was,  that  in  acceding 
to  his  terms  she  bound  herself  to  fulfill  a  tacit 
agreement.  She  must  keep  herself  just  as  she  was 
when  the  price  was  offered ;  she  must  not  sulk,  she 
must  not  seem  blue  or  dissatisfied,  she  must  not 
appear  unhappy,  for  that  would  be  cheating — dis- 
honest. It  made  no  difference  how  dishonorable  he 
was,  that  would  not  excuse  it  in  her. 

232 


THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE    233 

He  entered  quickly.  "  You  sent  for  me — yoii 
are  not  ill  ?  " 

She  heard  herself  answer,  "  No,  not  ill — I 
wanted  to  see  you." 

He  waited  for  her  to  continue.  She  stood  be- 
fore him,  a  mockery  of  a  smile  on  her  face,  her 
nervous  hands  twitching  at  her  dress. 

"  Well,"  he  said  at  last,  "  what  is  it,  Sylvia?  " 

She  did  not  know  what  to  say,  she  could  not 
think,  she  stood  wondering  what  would  happen  next. 
Then  she  heard,  seemingly  without  any  volition  on 
her  part,  her  voice  say: 

"  I  must  have  money — I  need  money — I  want  you 
to  telegraph  it  to  Harbury  for  me." 

"  Certainly,"  he  replied.     "  How  much  ?  " 

Again  her  voice  sounded  in  her  ears :  "  I  don't 
know — a  great  deal,  I  think.  I  have  just  had  a 
letter — they  need  money.  I  don't  know  how  much. 
I  have  no  idea  how  much." 

"  You  may  send  as  much  as  you  want,"  he  said. 
He  reached  for  his  check-book. 

Then  suddenly  a  bubble  of  anger,  rushing  from 
the  very  bottom  of  his  mind,  darted  to  the  surface 
and  burst  into  a  bitter  speech : 

"  It  seems  to  be  all  I  am  good  for." 

She  drew  in  her  breath  quickly. 

"  Pardon  me,"  he  said  instantly,  "  I  don't  know 
why  I  said  that;  it  was  an  unpardonable  rudeness." 


234    THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE 

Ruth  stared  at  him  uncertainly.  "  But,"  her  voice 
said  quaveringly,  "  you  don't  understand." 

He  turned  his  eyes  on  her.     "  Understand?  " 

Her  hands  gripped  each  other  painfully.  What 
was  she  to  say  now?     How  was  she  to  tell  him? 

"  In  the  car— to-night— I— I " 

"  Sylvia !  "  he  cried  hoarsely.  He  did  not  move, 
but  stood  searching  her  with  his  eyes. 

She  could  say  nothing.  Her  voice  seemed  to  have 
failed  her.  She  looked  down  at  her  hands  writh- 
ing in  her  lap.  There  was  a  tiny  drop  of  blood 
on  one  knuckle.     She  gazed  at  it  in  wonderment. 

"  Sylvia !  "  he  cried  again.    "  You  don't  mean — " 

After  an  eternity  her  voice  answered,  "  I've 
changed  my  mind." 

He  sprang  toward  her  with  outstretched  arms. 
Suddenly  she  was  shaken  back  to  herself.  With  a 
cry  of  dismay  she  drew  back,  and  a  shudder  of 
repulsion  shook  her  body. 

"Am  I  so  terrible?"  he  asked  bitterly.  "Is  it 
true  that  all  you  care  about  me  is  to  get  money, 
fame,  everything  from  me  and  then  hate  me  ?  " 

"  I  don't  hate  you,"  she  moaned,  driven  on  by 
John's  need. 

"Then  what  is  the  meaning  of  all  this?  Why 
did  you  send  for  me?  Why  are  you  telling  me 
you  have  changed  your  mind?  What  is  the  mean- 
ing of  it  all  ?  " 


THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE    235 

A  sudden  desire  to  get  it  over  with  surged  into 
her  mind.     She  braced  herself  for  the  falsehood. 

"  I  have  changed  my  mind,"  she  said,  but  her 
voice  wavered.  "  In  the  car,  I  was  surprised — I 
didn't  realize.  All  this  luxury,  fame,  everything, 
means  more  to  me  than  I  thought.  I — I  have 
changed — my  mind." 

She  forced  her  eyes  to  meet  his.  Their  gaze  met 
and  interlocked.  He  seemed  to  be  looking  down 
into  her  very  soul.    She  dropped  her  eyes. 

"  I've  changed  my  mind,"  she  reiterated  weakly. 

"  I  don't  believe  it,"  he  said  bluntly.  "  I  don't 
believe  it,  Sylvia." 

She  looked  up  frightened.  Was  she  to  fail  John 
after  all,  in  the  hour  of  his  greatest  need?  She 
started  to  speak. 

"  Be  quiet,"  he  said  sternly.    "  I  want  to  think." 

She  relapsed  into  silence,  watching  him  with  wide 
eyes. 

He  stood  musing.  "  Ah,  I  have  it,"  he  said  at 
last.  "  That  letter  from  home — they  need  money 
and  you  were  afraid  I  would  not  let  you  have  it. 
Is  that  it,  Sylvia?" 

She  could  struggle  no  longer.  "  Yes,  that  is 
it,"  she  said  in  a  suffocated  tone. 

He  laughed  bitterly.  "  So  you  thought  that  badly 
of  me?    Well,  no  wonder!  " 

"  I "  she  said  in  agitation,  "  I  thought " 


236    THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE 

"What  did  you  think?" 

Suddenly  she  plunged  into  feverish  recital.  "  I 
thought  it  was  a  trap.  I  thought  I  would  not  be 
allowed  to  stay  in  '  The  Parisian  Milliner.'  I 
thought  I  would  be  poor  again,  and  they  need 
money  at  home,  to  keep  John  from  going  to  the  asy- 
lum. Oh,  it  is  a  terrible  place! — they  beat  people 
to  death  there.  I  have  to  have  money — there 
seemed  no  other  way.  Was  I  wrong?  Has  there 
been  some  terrible  mistake  ?  "  Hope,  springing  up 
in  her  breast,  raised  her  voice  almost  to  a  scream. 
"Tell  me— tell  me!" 

"  You  were  right,"  he  said  harshly.  "  It  was  a 
trap — at  first.  Afterwards — I  don't  know.  I  am 
not  a  good  man,  and  I  love  you."  He  laughed 
mirthlessly,  and  began  his  restless  pacing  of  the 
room. 

Unreality  closed  in  again  about  Ruth.  She  sat 
motionless.  She  could  not  think,  she  did  not  know 
what  to  say.  Presently  some  one  would  pull  a 
string,  she  thought,  and  then  she  would  move,  but 
she  could  not  voluntarily. 

"  So  you  are  willing  to  do  this?"  Rudolf  flung 
over  his  shoulder  at  her  jerkily. 

"  There  seemed  no  other  way,"  she  said  tone- 
lessly.     "Yes." 

He  resumed  his  pacing,  and  again  there  was  si- 
lence.   Ruth  watched  him  dully. 


THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE    237 

Suddenly  he  laughed  aloud,  recklessly,  mirth- 
lessly, a  grating,  discordant  cackle. 

"  Let  the  cards  lie  as  they  have  fallen,"  he  said 
raspingly.  "  Besides  '  The  Parisian  Milliner,*  this 
luxury,  fame,  all  the  rest  of  it — how  much  cash? 
Tell  me  the  whole  of  the  price." 

His  brutal  words  stung  her  back  to  life.  "  Oh !  " 
she  cried. 

"  Will  a  thousand  be  enough — two  thousand — 
five — what  is  the  amount  ?  " 

She  sat  silent,  staring  at  him. 

"  Ah !  "  he  exclaimed  roughly,  "  I  see.  I  am  to 
fix  my  own  price.  Very  well.  I  will  telegraph 
the  money  to  Harbury  at  once.  To  whom  shall  I 
send  it?" 

She  answered  mechanically,  "  Mrs.  Henry  Law- 
son. 

Unnecessarily  he  took  out  a  notebook  and  wrote 
it  down. 

For  a  moment  he  hesitated,  looking  at  her  with 
a  strange  expression  on  his  face.  She  gathered 
herself  together,  her  heart  pounding  sickeningly. 
Then  he  turned  abruptly  to  the  door. 

"  Good-night ! "  he  said,  and  was  gone. 

The  sleepless  night  was  drawing  to  a  close.  A 
dim  light  filtered  through  the  curtains  in  Ruth's 
room.     Somewhere  in  the  building  she  heard  the 


238    THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE 

closing  of  a  door.  Below  in  the  street  the  rum- 
blings of  the  electric  cars  grew  more  frequent.  The 
honking  of  automobile  horns  came  at  less  lengthy 
intervals.  The  city  was  awakening.  A  new  day 
was  coming  into  existence.  In  a  short  while  the 
sun,  climbing  up  out  of  the  sea,  would  flood  the 
city  with  his  cheering  rays,  but  they  would  find  no 
answering  light  in  Ruth  Lawson's  soul. 

For  that  was  in  the  shadow,  the  terrible  insinu- 
ating shadow  that  was  everywhere  in  this  awful 
city.  It  had  now  completely  enveloped  her.  She 
could  see  its  solid  walls  on  every  side,  she  could 
almost  touch  it,  and  yet  in  grim  mockery  it  held 
aloof.  She  had  sold  herself  to  Rudolf.  Already 
the  money  derived  from  her  sale  was  in  Harbury. 
He  might  claim  her  when  and  how  he  chose.  Some 
day  he  would,  perhaps  to-day.  She  moaned,  a  fee- 
ble, heart-stricken  cry. 

A  stray  hope  creeping  warily  into  her  mind,  that 
he  might  never  claim  her,  was  shattered  in  an  in- 
stant. The  picture  of  the  happiness  of  John's 
mother,  when  she  received  the  sorely  needed  money, 
came  to  her  weak  and  devoid  of  the  power  to  cheer, 
or  to  lessen  her  suffering.  The  knowledge  that  she 
had  done  only  what  she  must — that,  in  sacrificing 
herself  for  another's  need,  she  had  gained  the 
heights   of    unselfish    nobility — carried    no    solace. 


THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE    239 

There  was  room  in  her  mind  only  for  the  horror, 
the  shameful,  soul-rending  horror. 

Yet  never  once  did  she  think  of  evasion.  The 
compact  was  made — it  was  too  late  now  to  think 
of  withdrawing,  and,  besides,  to  her  peculiar  tex- 
ture of  mind,  the  fact  was  already  accomplished — 
she  had  sold  herself.  Something  in  the  innermost 
part  of  her  being  told  her  in  no  uncertain  terms 
that  she  had  crossed  the  line — she  was  now  on  the 
other  side. 

At  noon  Lory  called  her  up  on  the  'phone,  "  Do 
you  want  me,  dear  ?  " 

"  Yes ;  oh,  yes.  Lory !  "  Ruth  answered. 

Lory  came,  asking  no  questions,  demanding  no 
confidences,  soothing,  with  her  sure  touch  and 
boundless  sympathy,  the  girl's  distracted  mind.  As 
she  was  leaving,  she  hesitated :  "  There  is  some- 
thing maybe  you  ought  to  know,  Ruth,  dear.  Jack 
blew  in  from  Philly  early  this  morning,  and  at  the 
station  he  met  Rudolf  with  a  suitcase  and  a  lot  of 
junk.  Rudy  said  he  was  going  South  and  would 
be  gone  for  a  couple  of  months." 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

In  Harbury,  the  winter  was  ushered  in  by  a  term 
of  zero  weather;  the  trees  seemed  frozen  against 
the  December  sky,  the  ground  was  white  and  gHs- 
tening  in  its  mantle  of  snow.  There  was  ice  every- 
where, not  only  on  the  mill  pond,  where  it  did  no- 
body any  harm  and  filled  the  hearts  of  the  younger 
generation  with  ecstatic  joy,  but  also  in  the  pumps 
and  cisterns  and,  worst  of  all,  in  the  pitcher  con- 
taining the  water  for  Doctor  Horace  Barney's 
ablutions. 

"  Curse  it !  "  he  cried  angrily,  poking  at  the  glis- 
tening layer  with  his  toothbrush,  while  from  be- 
tween his  parted  lips  his  breath  escaped  in  a  cloud 
of  steam.  "  Curse  it !  Why  did  I  ever  come  to  this 
God- forsaken  hole  ?  " 

The  thought  of  his  own  luxuriously  appointed 
apartments  in  New  York  did  not  tend  to  lessen  his 
dissatisfaction. 

"  Why  can't  they  let  me  alone  ? "  he  muttered 
savagely.  "  Always  nagging,  nagging  about  my 
working  too  hard  until  they  get  me  to  come  to  a 
hole  in  the  ground  like  this." 

He  peered  at  the  ice  again,  and  then  attacked  it, 
240 


THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE    241 

more  successfully  this  time,  with  his  hair-brush. 
After  accomplishing  this  feat,  he  slopped  the  wa- 
ter in  his  face,  puffing  and  blowing  like  a  porpoise. 

One  could  see  at  a  glance  that  the  doctor,  or 
rather,  surgeon — for  such  he  was — did  not  fit  in 
with  his  surroundings.  His  corpulent  body,  with 
its  pink  skin  showing  beneath  the  sleeves  of  his 
silk  undershirt,  was  not  in  accord  with  the  prim 
aspect  of  the  Puritan  bedroom,  nor  was  the  tem- 
perature one  in  which  Doctor  Barney  would  flour- 
ish. His  natural  habitation  would  be  among  the 
flesh-pots,  not  the  vulgar  flesh-pots,  but  those  which 
a  fastidious  and  educated  taste  alone  could  enjoy, 
for  Doctor  Barney  was  a  finished  product  of  a 
finished  civilization. 

The  reason  for  his  presence  among  these  condi- 
tions so  foreign  to  his  usual  surroundings  was  sim- 
ple: Doctor  Barney  had  burned  the  candle  at  both 
ends,  one  being  his  love  for  surgery,  the  other  his 
love  of  the  good  things  of  life.  By  rigorous 
physical  training,  he  might  have  been  able  to  bear 
the  strain  of  his  many  and  difficult  operations,  or 
without  the  operations,  his  mild  dissipations  would 
have  produced  little  if  any  effect  on  his  health, 
but  the  combination  was  too  strong,  and  one  day 
he  had  collapsed  at  an  operation.  His  friends  had 
immediately  raised  a  clamor,  which  was  echoed 
by  a  secret  fear  in  his  own  mind,  and  the  result  of 


242    THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE 

it  all  was  that  he  had  protestingly  exiled  himself 
to  Harbury,  where  he  was  staying  with  an  old  aunt 
of  his.  He  had  decided  to  remain  here  two  weeks, 
and  this  he  was  determined  to  do,  although  now, 
on  the  fourth  day  of  his  visit,  he  could  easily  see 
that  it  would  be  the  most  miserable  two  weeks  of 
his  life. 

His  aunt  was  a  pleasant  enough  old  lady,  but  she 
held  the  idea  that  talk  of  operations  during  meal- 
time, or  any  other  time  in  fact,  was  out  of  place, 
and  she  took  no  interest  in  rare  china,  the  collec- 
tion of  which  was  one  of  the  doctor's  hobbies,  nor 
did  she  listen  with  interest  to  the  doctor's  descrip- 
tions of  the  epicurean  dishes  to  be  obtained  at  the 
Amarynthus  Club,  nor  indeed  did  any  of  his  dis- 
course interest  her.  She  still  looked  upon  him  as 
the  little  boy  who  used  to  trample  her  flower-beds, 
and  break  her  window  when  his  mother  brought 
him  for  an  occasional  visit  to  Harbury  in  the  sum- 
mer. Sometimes  Doctor  Barney  rebelled  against 
this  attitude  on  her  part,  and  spent  much  time  and 
expended  a  great  deal  of  breath  trying  to  convince 
her  that  his  name  was  held  in  vast  respect  in  New 
York,  but  his  efforts  were  useless ;  she  smiled  sooth- 
ingly, and  remained  unconvinced.  So,  altogether, 
it  was  but  natural  that  the  doctor  was  unhappy. 

This  morning  he  descended  to  the  dining-room 
in  gloom.     Another  long  day  must  be  put  in,  and 


THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE    243 

he  did  not  look  forward  to  it  with  pleasure.  As 
he  neared  the  dining-room,  however,  the  fragrance 
of  the  breakfast  greeted  his  nostrils,  and,  despite 
himself,  a  thrill  of  pleasure  ran  through  him,  for 
Doctor  Barney  dearly  loved  his  eating.  He  entered 
the  room  with  a  more  sprightly  step.  A  little 
old  lady  with  sharp  black  eyes,  and  wearing  a 
frilled  lace  cap,  was  already  seated  at  the  table 
placidly  eating  her  breakfast.  Doctor  Barney 
realized  that  another  mark  for  tardiness  had  been 
registered  against  his  name.  He  put  on  his  most 
winning  manner: 

"  Good-morning,  Aunt  Mary !  You  are  looking 
as  bright  as  a  flower  this  morning." 

"  Good-morning,  Horace !  You  are  late  again." 
There  was  mild  reproof  in  her  tone. 

Inwardly  the  doctor  made  uncomplimentary  re- 
marks about  people  who  rise  before  daylight,  but 
aloud  he  humbly  begged  forgiveness  for  his  infrac- 
tion of  the  rules. 

"  Did  you  put  on  the  chest  protector  I  left  out 
for  you,  Horace?  " 

Horace  had  not.  "  I  did  not  see  any  chest  pro- 
tector," he  prevaricated  uneasily. 

"  Then  you  had  better  run  right  up  and  put  it 
on.    You  know  your  health  is  delicate." 

There  were  two  things  Doctor  Barney  despised. 
One  was,  to  be  ordered,  even  in  so  mild  a  way,  to 


244    THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE 

do  anything,  and  the  other  was,  to  be  told  that 
he  was  delicate.  Also  chest  protectors  were,  in  his 
estimation,  the  last  proof  of  inanity.  But  there 
was  a  tone  of  command  in  his  aunt's  voice  which 
even  now,  at  the  age  of  fifty-five,  he  did  not 
dare  disobey. 

"  I'll  put  it  on  after  I  get  my  breakfast,"  he  said 
crossly. 

The  old  lady  said  nothing,  but  went  on  eating 
calmly. 

Doctor  Barney  began  to  fidget.  "  Will  you  ring 
the  bell,  please,"  he  asked  at  last,  "  so  Nettie  can 
bring  me  something  to  eat?    I'm  hungry." 

Miss  Mary  Barney  smiled  sweetly.  "  Certainly, 
Horace — just  as  soon  as  you  have  put  on  your  chest 
protector." 

He  scowled.  "  You  treat  me  as  if  I  were  a 
child,"  he  said  sulkily. 

"  All  men  are  children,"  she  returned  placidly. 

He  waited  a  little  while,  hoping  that  she  would 
relent,  although  he  knew  from  experience  that  she 
would  not.  Then  he  went  upstairs,  and  angrily 
donned  the  offending  article. 

The  breakfast  would  have  been  looked  upon  by 
many  as  a  liberal  reward  for  such  a  small  matter; 
the  biscuits  were  of  the  lightest,  and  the  coffee — 
well,  even  he  had  to  admit  that  no  one  could  make 
coffee  quite  like  Aunt  Mary — and  the  eggs   and 


THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE    245 

bacon  were  delicious,  but  they  served  to  lighten  the 
doctor's  gloom  only  a  small  fraction. 

"  I  think  I'll  walk  down  to  the  postoffice,"  he 
remarked  as  soon  as  he  had  finished.  "  I  am  ex- 
pecting a  letter." 

Before  Doctor  Barney  had  started  away  from 
the  haunts  of  civilization,  he  had  been  induced  to 
make  several  promises  to  his  friends.  He  had  prom- 
ised that  he  would  not  perform  any  operations, 
nor  would  he  read  any  medical  books  or  magazines 
of  any  kind,  nor  talk  to  any  other  physician  or 
surgeon  on  medical  topics.  In  short,  he  was  to 
forget  his  profession,  and  rest.  But  there  was  one 
thing  which  Doctor  Barney  had  not  promised,  and 
that  was  to  refrain  from  writing  letters.  He  had 
not  intended  to  take  advantage  of  this  technical 
error  on  the  part  of  his  advisers,  but  the  first  day 
in  Harbury  had  reduced  him  to  such  a  state  of  bore- 
dom that  he  yielded  to  the  temptation,  and  dashed 
off  a  peppery  letter  to  a  colleague  who  held  dia- 
metrically opposite  views  concerning  a  certain  op- 
eration. He  had  purposely  made  this  letter  as 
insulting  as  he  could  so  that  his  brother  surgeon 
— they  were  warm  friends — would  be  sure  to  an- 
swer. It  was  this  answer  that  the  doctor  was  now 
braving  the  elements  to  get.  Nor  was  he  disap- 
pointed, for  the  postmaster  handed  him  out  a  fat 
envelope,   addressed   in   a   spluttery  hand,   which 


246    THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE 

showed  his  brother  surgeon's  state  of  mind.  Doc- 
tor Barney  did  not  wait,  but  tore  it  open  at  once. 
Before  he  had  read  to  the  end  of  the  first  page  his 
ire  was  aroused. 

"  Why,  the  man  is  a  fool !  "  he  exclaimed  con- 
temptuously. "  The  man  is  an  ignorant  fool.  Any 
number  of  authorities  bear  me  out  on  that  point, 

there's "     He  dived  into  his  memory  for  the 

name  of  the  surgeons  who  agreed  with  him,  but 
not  one  could  he  remember. 

"  Curse  it!  "  he  muttered  angrily.  "  If  I  only  had 
my  library  here,  I  could  soon  show  him  that  he  is 
talking  like  an  ass." 

He  left  the  postoffice,  and  started  up  the  street, 
still  trying  in  vain  to  recall  the  names  which  had 
escaped  him.  Suddenly  his  eye  fell  upon  the  shin- 
gle of  Doctor  Northall.  This  was  always  a  point 
of  sore  temptation  to  him.  He  always  longed  to 
go  in,  and  talk  to  the  one  man  in  the  place  who 
knew  the  difference  between  the  occipito-frontalis 
and  the  tendon  of  Achilles.  Up  to  this  time  he 
had  refrained,  remembering  his  promise,  but  to-day 
the  thought  of  certain  books  within  the  doctor's 
office  added  its  weight  to  the  temptation,  and  he 
fell.  He  threw  a  guilty  look  around,  then  advanced 
boldly  up  the  path. 

Doctor  Northall  himself  came  to  the  door,  and 
the  tone  of  mingled  respect  and  pleasure  with  which 


THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE    247 

he  greeted  the  great  surgeon  was  like  balm  to  the 
latter's  ruffled  feelings.  Doctor  Barney  plunged  at 
once  into  his  grievance.  "  So,  you  see,"  he  wound 
up,  **  the  man  is  an  idiot.'* 

Doctor  Northall  rose  and  went  over  to  a  book- 
case. He  selected  a  book,  and  turned  the  pages 
quickly  until  he  came  to  the  passage  he  was  looking 
for. 

"  Here  is  one  authority  who  upholds  you,"  he 
remarked,  handing  the  book  to  the  other. 

Doctor  Barney  took  it  eagerly.  "  Why,  cer- 
tainly— Von  Bergmann — ^had  him  on  the  tip  of  my 
tongue,  but  couldn't  quite  make  it." 

After  this  the  two  men  were  brothers  in  feeling, 
if  not  in  fact.  Doctor  Barney  could  pour  out  the 
story  of  his  successful  operations  into  untiring  ears, 
and  his  spirits  revived  by  the  moment.  Once  in 
a  while  his  promise  rose  to  confront  him,  but  he 
ignored  it.  There  was  no  use  being  foolish  about 
a  thing  like  that;  he  could  not  be  expected  to  go 
two  whole  weeks  without  even  talking  about  his 
profession.  A  little  chat  like  this  was  the  best 
thing  in  the  world  for  him;  it  could  not  possibly 
do  him  any  harm. 

"  By  the  way,"  said  Doctor  Northall  at  last, 
"  there  is  a  case  here  in  Harbury  which  I  think 
would  interest  you.  Of  course  I  understand  that 
you  are  here  to  rest,  not  to  hunt  up  fresh  cases, 


248    THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE 

but  I  think  you  would  be  interested  to  hear  about 
it." 

At  the  mention  of  a  case,  Doctor  Barney  pricked 
up  his  ears.  It  was  like  a  blast  of  a  bugle  to  a 
veteran  war  horse. 

"  Why,  certainly,  I'd  like  to  hear  about  it.  Lord 
love  you,  man,  this  is  the  best  word  I've  heard  since 
I  left  New  York.  A  case,  eh?  Well,  fire  away. 
What  is  it?" 

Doctor  Northall  plunged  into  a  description  of 
John  Lawson's  condition,  and  did  not  want  for 
an  attentive  listener.  When  he  had  finished,  Doc- 
tor Barney  asked  one  or  two  questions  in  a  rapid- 
fire  manner.  Then  he  arose  and  paced  the  room 
in  deep  thought.  Finally  he  stopped  in  front  of 
Doctor  Northall. 

"  I  believe  it  can  be  done,"  he  said  excitedly. 
"  Weigman  says  it  can't,  but  I  know  better.  Still, 
there's  a  chance " 

"  He  would  be  better  off  dead  than  living  the 
way  he  is,"  answered  the  other  soberly.  "  If  you 
think  it  right  to  operate,  I  am  willing  to  stand 
my  share  of  the  responsibility." 

"  When  can  I  see  the  patient  ?  Does  he  live  near 
here?" 

"  We  can  go  now." 

"Good!" 

It  was  only  when,  later  in  the  day,  Doctor  Bar- 


THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE    249 

ney  had  telegraphed  to  New  York  for  two  trained 
nurses  and  an  assistant  surgeon  that  he  reahzed 
how  fully  he  had  broken  all  promises.  He  viewed 
the  matter  philosophically,  however. 

"  May  as  well  be  hung  for  a  sheep  as  a  lamb," 
he  remarked  contentedly. 


CHAPTER  XXVII 

John  Lawson  opened  his  eyes,  and  gazed  up  into 
the  face  of  Doctor  Northall. 

He  smiled  feebly.  "  Prince  got  away  with  me," 
he  said,  his  voice  thin  and  weak,  and  was  aston- 
ished to  find  that  this  simple  statement  should  bring 
such  a  look  of  joy  to  the  doctor's  face.  He  won- 
dered also  who  the  other  man  was,  and  why  there 
should  be  two  women  in  the  uniform  of  trained 
nurses  in  the  room.  Nor  could  he  understand  why 
they  should  all  shake  hands  as  if  something  won- 
derful had  occurred.  While  he  was  speculating 
as  to  what  it  all  meant,  he  fell  asleep. 

When  he  awoke,  his  mother  was  by  his  bedside. 

"  Hello,  mother,"  he  said  cheerfully.  "  It  seems 
I  had  a  little  accident  last  night." 

His  mother  dropped  on  her  knees  by  the  bed. 
"  My  boy,  my  boy !  "  she  sobbed.  "  Thank  God, 
my  boy,  my  boy !  " 

"  They  are  making  a  tremendous  fuss  about  me," 
he  said  to  himself;  "must  have  thought  I  was  go- 
ing to  die.  There,  there,  mother,"  he  went  on, 
"  don't  you  worry ;  it  would  take  more  than  a  lit- 
tle bump  on  the  head  to " 

250 


THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE    251 

He  stopped  abruptly  as  his  gaze  wandered  past 
her  out  of  the  window. 

"Jerusalem!  "  he  ejaculated,  and  stared  in  aston- 
ishment at  the  bare  trees  covered  with  little  patches 
of  snow. 

He  rubbed  his  eyes  and  looked  at  his  mother. 
He  reached  out  and  touched  her.  Yes,  she  was  cer- 
tainly real — he  could  not  be  dreaming.  A  look  of 
horror  dawned  in  his  eyes. 

"Mother,"  he  gasped,  "  Ruth— the  child?" 

His  mother  rose  and  sat  down  on  the  bed  beside 
him.  "  Ruth  is  well,  John."  She  spoke  gently, 
but  there  was  a  pain  in  her  voice  he  could  not 
understand. 

"And  the  child?" 

"  It  died,  John — it  lived  only  a  little  while." 

He  groaned.  His  mother  rose  hastily.  "  Try  to 
bear  it  bravely,  my  son,"  she  said.  "  You  must 
not  talk  any  more  to-day.  Try  to  go  to  sleep  and 
save  your  strengfth." 

"  But  this  is  winter,  I  was  hurt  in  May — what  ?  " 

"  Not  another  word,"  she  said.  "  To-morrow  I 
will  tell  you  all  about  it." 

The  next  day  his  first  question  was  of  Ruth.  The 
mother,  pale-faced  and  red-eyed  from  a  sleepless 
night  of  weeping,  braced  herself  for  what  must 
come.  This  was  the  moment  to  which  she  had 
looked  forward  with  terror  ever  since  she  knew 


252    THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE 

they  were  going  to  operate,  and  John  might  recover 
his  mind. 

Ruth's  first  letter  after  she  had  gone  to  New 
York  had  told  the  mother  of  her  success  in  ob- 
taining a  position — that  was  the  one  in  the  doctor's 
office.  Then  had  come  a  period  of  short,  newsless 
letters,  which  nevertheless  hinted  that  the  position 
was  satisfactory,  but  paid  too  little  as  yet  for  the 
girl  to  send  money  home.  Then,  after  some  months, 
came  the  news  of  the  prospective  position  on  the 
stage.  This  letter — enthusiastic,  buoyant,  girlish — 
filled  the  mother  with  vague  alarm.  She  read  it 
over  and  over,  trying  to  make  herself  believe  that 
all  was  right,  but  she  could  not.  She  had  read  of 
the  struggles  of  young  women  to  gain  a  foothold 
on  the  stage,  and  this  leap  of  Ruth's  to  a  special 
part — just  what  that  was  she  did  not  know,  but 
it  sounded  important — frightened  her.  Who  was 
this  man,  Benjamin  Rudolf?  Why  was  he  taking 
such  an  interest  in  Ruth?  The  answer  knocked  at 
the  door  of  her  mind,  but  she  would  not  allow  it 
to  enter. 

Then,  later,  marked  copies  of  newspapers  came, 
sent  by  "  friends,"  filled  with  the  "  romance  "  be- 
tween the  great  theatrical  manager  and  the  un- 
known country  girl.  She  read  them  through  tear- 
dimmed  eyes,  and  they  fluttered  from  the  nerveless, 
trembling  hands  to  the  floor. 


THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE    253 

Gossip  did  not  neglect  this  golden  opportunity. 
She  hovered  buzzard-like  over  Harbury,  fattening 
herself  on  the  luscious  morsels,  nor  did  her  vo- 
taries spare  the  shrinking,  heart-broken  woman,  but 
under  guise  of  sympathy  retailed  to  her  what  "  they 
say,"  and  when  a  drummer,  having  a  friend  in  the 
chorus  of  "  The  Parisian  Milliner,"  chanced  into 
Harbury,  and  told  what  was  then  common  rumor 
in  theatrical  circles,  the  mother  heard  every  word 
of  it — cruel,  ugly  words  which  destroyed  her  last 
atrophied  hope  and  burned  into  her  quivering  soul 
like  white-hot  irons. 

It  had  been  while  her  fears  were  clamoring,  but 
yet  unverified,  that  she  wrote  and  told  Ruth  of  their 
need  of  money.  It  had  been  immediately  tele- 
graphed, an  amount  out  of  all  proportion  to  their 
needs,  and  this  same  Benjamin  Rudolf  had  sent 
it.  She  had  been  forced  to  accept  it;  there  seemed 
nothing  else  to  do.  She  despised  herself  for  the 
helplessness  which  made  her  a  recipient  of  such 
bounty,  but  she  could  see  no  way  out  of  it.  John 
needed  her  care — she  could  not  leave  him,  even 
if  by  so  doing  she  could  gain  a  livelihood  for  him 
and  herself.  And  yet,  despite  her  knowledge  that 
she  was  doing  only  what  she  must,  it  would  be 
impossible  to  overestimate  her  humiliation;  no  one 
could  know.    But  Nature  knew,  and  Nature  marked 


254    THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE 

it  indelibly  with  a  thousand  wrinkles  on  her  brow, 
and  turned  her  hair  snow-white  as  a  token. 

During  all  this  time  pity  for  her  son  was  far 
and  away  ahead  of  any  emotion  she  felt  for  Ruth; 
indeed,  at  times,  she  was  terribly  angry  with  the 
girl — almost  hated  her.  Why  had  she  done  this 
thing — how  could  she? 

"  Perhaps,"  suggested  the  still  small  voice  of 
her  intuition,  "  there  was  no  other  way.  Perhaps 
she  did  it  for  you  and  John." 

The  mother  cried  out  in  agony  against  the 
thought.  She  beat  her  hands  distractedly  against 
her  withered  breast.  "  Oh,  God !  "  she  cried.  "  Not 
that— not  that !  " 

And  when  she  thought  of  the  moment  when  she 
must  tell  her  son,  when  he  would  demand  to  know 
of  his  wife,  and  she,  his  mother,  must  tell  him  this 
ghastly  thing 

And  now  that  moment  had  arrived.  She  stood 
speechless  and  trembling,  her  hands  clasping  and 
unclasping,  straining  together  until  the  knuckles 
seemed  about  to  start  through  the  flesh. 

Quick  suspicion  sprang  to  his  mind. 

"  Tell  me !  "  he  cried.  "  Don't  stand  there  like 
that.     Tell  me." 

And  the  mother  told  him,  the  whole  pitiful  story 
as  she  knew  it,  beginning  away  back  at  the  night 
of  the  accident,  told  him  between  bursts  of  sob- 


THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE    255 

bing,  softening  the  blow — if,  indeed,  it  could  be 
softened — pleading  for  the  girl,  extenuating,  evad- 
ing, until  he  stopped  her  with: 

"  I've  heard  enough."  His  voice  was  hard,  bru- 
tal. The  look  on  his  face  was  terrible.  The  mother, 
frightened,  stammered  and  faltered. 

"  I  want  to  be  alone,"  he  said. 

After  his  mother  had  gone,  John  lay  perfectly- 
quiet.  From  the  expression  of  iron-hardness  on  his 
face,  one  would  little  imagine  what  the  man  was 
suffering.  He  had  driven  forth  that  night  in  May, 
which  was  his  yesterday,  in  superb  confidence  in 
himself  and  supreme  happiness  and  trust  in  his 
wife.  Now  he  had  awakened  to  find  his  business 
gone,  his  home  wrecked,  his  wife  an  outcast.  It 
would  be  false  to  say  there  was  no  pity  in  his  heart 
for  her,  but  it  would  be  equally  false  to  give  it 
a  place  of  undue  prominence.  His  was  the  race 
that  had  burned  unoffending  old  women  at  the 
stake,  the  race  that  has  ever  punished  sin  with  an 
intolerant  and  unflinching  hand,  the  race  that  stifled 
every  human  emotion  when  it  conflicted  with  its 
idea  of  right. 

In  extenuation  of  him  it  must  be  said  that  he 
knew  nothing  of  Ruth's  struggles — the  girl  had 
kept  them  from  the  mother — nothing  of  the  long, 
weary,  heart-breaking  months  before  she  gained  her 
present   pinnacle   of   worldly   success.      He   knew 


256    THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE 

merely  the  facts  which  seemed  unmistakably  to  es- 
tablish her  guilt,  and  inferred — an  entirely  logical 
inference  to  a  man  of  his  limited  experience  and 
narrow  processes  of  thought — that  she  had  yielded 
to  a  craving  for  luxury. 

And,  because  of  this  inference,  he  hardened  his 
heart  against  her  and  never  a  doubt  entered  his 
mind  of  his  right  to  judge  without  further  evi- 
dence. He  lay  motionless,  staring  up  at  the  ceil- 
ing with  unseeing  eyes,  and  only  once  did  a  sound 
escape  his  lips. 

A  random  harking  backward  of  his  memory  re- 
called his  boastings  on  the  night  of  the  drive  just 
before  the  accident.  "  If  a  man  is  any  good,  he 
makes  his  own  circumstances.  ...  I'd  like  to  see 
the  circumstances  that  could  down  me."  A  bitter 
laugh  was  forced  from  him. 

What  a  fool  he  had  been!  But  he  went  no 
further,  nor  did  he  extend  the  new  understanding 
to  his  wife's  case.  Every  fresh  thought  of  her 
hardened  him  the  more,  and,  with  the  self-right- 
eousness of  the  father  who  turns  the  erring 
daughter  out  into  the  world,  John  found  a  grim 
satisfaction  in  the  thought  that  he  was  strong 
enough  to  mete  out  justice  with  an  impartial  hand 
even  in  the  case  of  one  whom  he  had  loved  as  he 
had  Ruth.  And  so  he  reached  a  decision.  Ruth 
should  be  to  him  as  one  dead. 


THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE    257 

He  rang  a  small  bell  beside  his  bedside,  and  his 
mother  appeared. 

"  Mother,"  he  said  in  a  toneless  voice,  "  I  want 
you  never  to  mention  her  name  again  in  my  pres- 
ence. Furthermore,  I  forbid  you  to  write  to  her 
or  have  anything  to  do  with  her.  Do  you  under- 
stand?" 

"  Yes,  John,"  she  answered,  trembling.  "  But 
about  the  money  she  sent — what  shall  I  do  with 
that?" 

"  How  much  have  you  spent?  " 

"  I  have  kept  account  of  every  penny,  John — 
just  two  hundred  and  four  dollars  and  seventy-five 
cents.  She  sent  five  thousand.  I  felt  that  I  could 
not  use  it — not  a  penny  more  than  I  had  to — but 
I  did  not  want  to  hurt  her  feelings,  so  I  let  it  stay 
in  the  bank." 

"  Let  it  stay  there,  then,  until  I  can  pay  it  all 
back." 

"  But,  John " 

"  Don't  try  to  argue  with  me,"  he  said  angrily. 
"  Do  as  I  say,  and  don't  spend  another  cent.  H 
we  can't  get  credit,  we'll  starve." 

"  Oh,  we  can  get  credit  now,  John,  now  that  you 
are  better  again." 

"  Very  well,  then.  Now  remember,  you  are  not 
to  write  to  her.     I  don't  want  her  even  to  know 


258    THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE 

I  am  well,  until  I  can  pay  her  back  what  I  owe 
her." 

He  turned  his  face  to  the  wall.  Some  day  he 
would  send  back  the  money  to  Ruth  without  a  word. 
The  thought  of  doing  it  gave  him  satisfaction. 

The  mother  lingered  a  moment  uncertainly,  and 
then  went  out. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII 

As  the  days  went  by  and  John  regained  his 
strength,  his  prevailing  thoughts  were  of  business. 
He  would  open  another  store  in  Harbury — he  felt 
that  he  could  borrow  enough  money  for  that. 
Vengeance,  too,  occupied  an  uppermost  place  in  his 
mind,  and  Sam  Brunt  was  to  feel  the  weight  of 
it,  for,  taking  advantage  of  her  need,  Sam  had 
cheated  John's  mother  shamefully  in  the  deal — 
the  store  was  worth  four  times  what  he  had  paid 
for  it.  Very  well,  Sam  would  have  him  to  reckon 
with  now.  He  would  force  him  out  of  business, 
if  it  were  a  possible  thing,  and  he  thought  it  was, 
if  he  made  his  plans  carefully. 

And  not  only  against  Sam  Brunt  did  John  har- 
bor malice,  but  against  the  whole  community.  He 
felt  keenly  his  humiliation,  and  read  in  every  face 
contempt  for  him.  He  meant  to  compel  back  the 
respect  he  had  once  held  in  Harbury,  and  which 
he  felt  was  now  denied  him.  As  a  matter  of  fact 
the  contempt  was  not  there.  The  village  had  sa- 
tiated its  love  of  the  sensational  on  the  wife,  and 
the  husband  now  had  its  deep  and  real  sympathy. 

Each  person  in  Harbury  vied  with  every  other  in 
359 


26o    THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE 

speaking  loudly  of  his  deep  feeling  for  John. 
When  he  had  been  rising  toward  success,  Harbury 
had  been  jealous  of  him,  but  now  even  the  mean- 
est of  her  inhabitants  could  say  truthfully,  "  I  would 
rather  be  myself  than  John  Lawson."  And  it  is 
this  state  of  mind  which  is  most  conducive  to  sym- 
pathy. After  all,  human  emotions  should  not  be 
dissected  too  nicely,  for,  much  as  a  man  would 
wish  to  rejoice  in  the  success  of  a  friend,  the  tini- 
est factor  of  jealousy  is  bound  to  creep  in;  but,  on 
the  other  hand,  let  that  friend  be  hopelessly  down, 
so  that  every  favor  to  him  becomes  an  act  of  be- 
nevolence, and  real  pity  springs  into  the  heart.  It 
is  perhaps  only  natural  that  each  human  being 
should  wish  to  keep  his  plane  a  little  higher  than 
that  of  his  fellows. 

John's  mother  was  sorely  troubled  about  her  son. 
She  scarcely  knew  the  altered  John.  He  had  always 
been  a  little  hard  and  stern  even  as  a  boy,  but 
then  there  had  been  other  qualities  that  modified 
these  traits  and  kept  them  in  the  background.  It 
seemed  now  as  if  hardness  was  his  predominant 
habit  of  thought.  She  saw  it  not  only  in  the  big 
things,  but  in  a  hundred  little  ways,  and  she  was 
frightened.  And  she  was  suffering  keenly  for  Ruth. 
Had  John  disbelieved,  or  had  he,  even  though  be- 
lieving, shown  any  leniency  toward  her,  it  is  en- 
tirely probable  that  his  mother  would  have  taken 


THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE    261 

an  opposing  position  in  the  matter.  As  it  was, 
when  John  refused  to  speak  of  his  wife,  or  to 
allow  her  name  to  be  mentioned,  the  mother  swung 
to  the  other  extreme.  Every  sacrifice  Ruth  had 
made  in  the  days  before  she  had  gone  to  New 
York,  every  act  of  affection,  every  happy,  girlish 
way,  came  before  her  eyes  in  recurrently  more  vivid 
pictures  until  at  times  she  did  not  care  what  Ruth 
was  or  what  she  had  done,  she  felt  it  was  John's 
duty  to  take  her  back  and  let  the  past  be  wiped 
out.  And  with  these  thoughts  came  the  terrible 
realization  that  she  and  John  were  condemning  the 
girl  entirely  on  hearsay  evidence.  Several  times 
she  timidly  tried  to  lead  the  conversation  to  Ruth, 
but  the  look  on  her  son's  face  left  the  words  dead 
on  her  tongue. 

So  the  woman  worried  and  pined,  and  her  worn 
constitution  weakened  steadily,  and  when,  a  month 
after  John's  operation — when  the  new  year  was 
scarcely  a  fortnight  old — she  contracted  a  slight 
cold,  it  became  serious  and  developed  into  pneu- 
monia. 

John  sat  at  her  bedside  day  and  night.  Somehow 
he  knew — long  before  the  doctor  had  given  up  hope 
— that  his  mother  would  die.  Strangely  enough, 
underneath  the  feeling  of  sorrow  and  loneliness, 
lurked  a  sensation  of  relief.  He  had  felt  his  moth- 
er's silent  disapproval  very  strongly,  and  now  his 


262    THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE 

hands  would  be  free  to  deal  with  the  world  as  he 
wished. 

At  last  Doctor  Northall  gave  up  hope.  Laying 
his  hand  on  John's  shoulder,  he  said : 

"John,  your  mother  is  going;  she  will  not  last 
until  morning." 

John  nodded,  not  taking  his  eyes  from  the  blood- 
less face.  At  the  very  last  she  rallied,  and  drew 
her  son's  head  down  onto  the  pillow. 

"  John,"  she  whispered,  "  see  Ruth — promise." 

Her  lips  moved  unavailingly,  and  then  he  heard: 

"  Some  mistake — maybe — see  Ruth — promise." 

"  There,  there,  mother ;  everything  is  all  right. 
You  will  soon  be  better." 

"  Promise,"  she  gasped.  "  I  am  dying — 
promise." 

The  look  in  her  face  wrenched  at  his  heart.  He 
hesitated. 

"  Promise,"  she  implored,  clinging  with  frantic 
strength  to  his  hand. 

"  I  promise,"  he  said. 

With  a  sigh  she  closed  her  eyes,  and  Death 
stretched  forth  his  hand  and  touched  her. 


CHAPTER  XXIX 

Ruth  Lawson  was  still  playing  to  crowded  houses. 
She  was,  if  anything,  more  polished  in  her  acting. 
She  sang  as  well,  and  danced  as  gracefully;  yet 
there  was  a  something  lacking,  the  something  which 
had  made  her  reception  so  instantaneous  on  that 
first  night  of  "  The  Parisian  Milliner."  Only  those 
who  had  seen  her  then  and  afterwards  returned 
to  see  her  again,  noticed  it,  and  even  they  were  at 
a  loss  to  account  for  the  difference.  They  went 
away  puzzled.  One  of  these  was  Lorimer  of  The 
Ledger. 

"  I  can't  explain  it,"  he  confided  to  a  friend. 
"  In  many  ways  she  gives  a  more  finished  perform- 
ance than  on  the  opening  night,  but  she  has  not 
the  same  appeal  she  had  then." 

"  I  guess  you  liked  her  better  then,  because  it  was 
the  first  time  you  saw  the  show.  Now,  it's  an  old 
story  to  you." 

Lorimer  shook  his  head.  "No;  it  isn't  that. 
Somehow  she  impressed  me  the  first  night  as  being 
happy,  light-hearted,  and  all  that,  but  now — well, 
she  doesn't,  that's  all." 

"  It  must  take  a  pile  to  make  her  happy,  then," 
263 


264    THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE 

the  friend  retorted.  "  Most  people  could  drag  some 
joy  out  of  the  fact  that  all  New  York  was  at  their 
feet,  to  say  nothing  of  the  salary  she  draws." 

"  So  you  think  happiness  can  be  bought  like  any 
commodity  ?  " 

"  I'd  take  a  chance." 

"  Well,  if  you  ever  do,  I  hope  you  will  not  be 
disappointed.  But,  just  the  same,  I  believe  that 
Ruth  Lawson  is  unhappy.  Don't  ask  me  why  I 
think  so,  for  I  can't  tell  you,  but  that  is  my  opinion." 

Lorimer  was  right :  Ruth  was  unhappy — desper- 
ately unhappy.  She  could  draw  no  comfort  from 
her  anomalous  position.  Rudolf  had  not  returned, 
she  had  not  heard  from  him,  did  not  even  know 
where  he  was,  but  every  gleam  of  hope,  every 
kindly  feeling  for  the  man  because  of  his  absence, 
every  light-hearted  thought  that  crept  into  her  mind, 
was  instantly  blighted  by  the  dread  of  his  return, 
and  that  return  might  come  at  any  moment. 

Nor  was  it  for  herself  alone  that  she  was  mis- 
erable. As  it  had  been  with  her  ever  since  she 
came  to  New  York,  she  was  oppressed  by  the  fact 
that  she  was  not  alone  in  her  suffering.  And  as 
she  looked  out  over  the  city,  the  laughing,  heed- 
less city,  she  was  filled  with  an  immense  yearning 
to  help,  to  do  what  she  could  to  mitigate  the  misery 
of  the  other  side  which  she  knew  so  well.  And  at 
times  a  great  anger  against  the  metropolis  filled  her 


THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE    265 

mind.  It  seemed  to  her  a  city  clinging  to  its  blind- 
ness as  a  protection  against  that  which  it  does  not 
wish  to  see,  a  city  filled  with  charities  which  serve 
only  to  mask  the  true  conditions,  which  act  as  a 
salve  to  heal  the  surface  of  the  foul  growth  lest 
it  offend  the  eyes  of  those  who  wish  to  remain  in 
simulated  ignorance,  while  the  malignant  ulcer  eats 
and  eats  into  the  lives  and  morals  of  its  victims 
undisturbed. 

Ruth's  heart  had  grown  very  tender  toward  the 
dregs,  the  outcasts  of  life,  the  life  which  shows 
so  bravely  on  the  surface.  She  too,  she  felt,  was 
one  of  the  outcasts;  she  too  had  been  beaten  down 
in  the  struggle;  and  at  times  the  misery  of  it  all 
swept  over  her  with  such  force  that  she  cringed 
and  cowered  as  under  the  lash.  And  so  the  days 
dragged  by.  The  new  year  was  born  in  the  death 
of  the  old,  the  January  thaw  hardened  to  the  Febru- 
ary freeze,  and  now  March  had  come  in  blusterous 
and  disagreeable. 

One  day  Ruth's  maid  awakened  her  from  her 
morning  nap. 

"  Miss  Lory  is  here,  madam.  I  did  not  wish  to 
disturb  you,  but  she  insists.  What  could  I  do  ?  " 
She  spread  out  her  hands  in  comical  helplessness. 

Ruth  smiled.  "  Nothing,  Celeste.  If  Miss  Lory 
insisted,  I  am  sure  you  could  do  nothing — but  obey. 
Tell  her  to  come  right  in." 


266    THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE 

"  Say,  Ruth,"  said  Lory  excitedly,  "  have  you 
heard  from  Harbury  lately " 

"  No,"  answered  Ruth.    "  Why  ?  " 

"The  devil!" 

"What  is  it?"  cried  Ruth,  starting  up  in  suf- 
focating alarm. 

"  Well,  I  guess  there's  no  use  beating  around 
the  bush.  You  know  Doctor  Barney,  the  surgeon 
— well.  Jack  met  him  last  night  and  he  said  that  he 
had  performed  an  operation  on  a  patient  by  the 
name  of  Lawson  in  Harbury,  and  the  patient  had 
recovered  his  senses.  It  must  have  been  John  all 
right." 

Ruth's  first  exclamation  was  one  of  joy,  but  it 
was  checked  almost  before  it  was  uttered. 

"  I  know,"  said  Lory  sympathetically.  "  It's 
fierce,  isn't  it?  And  the  worst  of  it  is  that  the  op- 
eration was  performed  in  January,  and  here  it  is 
March." 

"  In  January !  "  Ruth  gasped. 

Lory  nodded  her  head.  "  Don't  you  see,  dear, 
he's  heard  a  bunch  of  gossip,  and  he's  sore,  the  sap- 
head.  Pity  he  couldn't  come  and  see — find  out  for 
himself — and  after  all  you've  been  through  for  him. 
Honest,  Ruth,  if  I  were  you,  I'd  forget  him — he 
isn't  worth  anything  else." 

Ruth  heard  Lory's  voice  dimly.  The  horrible 
fact  had  struck  her  with  crushing  force.    John  had 


THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE    267 

not  come.  He  was  well  again,  and  he  had  not 
come.     She  buried  her  head  in  her  hands. 

Lory  burst  out  in  a  string  of  abuse  against  the 
man. 

"Don't,"  Ruth  pleaded.  "Please  don't,  Lory. 
He  doesn't  understand." 

Lory  relapsed  into  silence,  sniffing  disdainfully. 

Ruth  did  not  weep,  she  was  too  stunned,  and  a 
decision  was  forming  slowly  in  her  breast. 

"  Lory,"  she  said  at  last,  looking  up.  "  Lory, 
I'm  going  to  Harbury.  I'm  going  to  tell  him  every- 
thing.   I'm  going  to  Harbury  to-day." 

"  All  right,"  Lory  answered  unenthusiastically. 
"  It  isn't  what  I'd  do,  but  maybe  it's  the  best  thing. 
Do  you  want  to  go  alone  or  shall  I  butt  in  as  far 
as  the  station  in  Harbury? — I  can  wait  for  you 
there." 

"  Oh,  thank  you,  Lory — but  really  I  would  rather 
go  alone — I  have  so  much  to  think  over." 

But  Ruth  did  not  go  to  Harbury. 

It  would  be  hard  to  marshal  all  the  factors  in 
her  decision  not  to  go.  Two  contending  forces 
strove  in  her  mind,  the  one  demanding  that  she  must 
fly  to  John,  to  make  him  know  how  he  had  mis- 
judged her,  to  regain  his  love,  to  feed  her  own  upon 
the  sight  of  him.  "  Just  to  be  with  him,"  cried  her 
heart, — "  just  to  see  him,  and  hear  his  voice." 

Equally  strong,  the  other  force,  the  force  of  her 


268    THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE 

common  sense — of  that  quality  of  the  mind  which 
can  discriminate  exactly  between  desire  and  reason 
— opposed  her  going.  In  stern  cross-examination 
it  challenged  her  sharply,  asking  what  she  would 
tell  John  when  she  reached  Harbury, 

"  Will  you  tell  him  the  whole  story,  and  have 
him  murder  Rudolf  and  be  executed  as  a  murderer, 
or  will  you  tell  him  nothing — just  win  back  his  love 
by  the  force  of  your  love  and  let  the  future  take 
care  of  itself?  Will  you  break  your  compact  with 
Rudolf,  or  will  you  fulfill  it,  leaving  John  in  igno- 
rance?   If  so,  how?  " 

Then,  having  shaken  her  with  its  brutal  ques- 
tionings, it  directed  at  her  unpleasant  truths.  "  You 
can't  tell  him  all,  and  he  will  not  be  satisfied  with 
less.  He  is  already  suspicious,  already  he  has  con- 
demned you;  anything  short  of  the  whole  truth 
would  only  add  to  his  certainty  of  your  guilt,  and 
you  dare  not  tell  him  all.  You  can't  break  your 
compact  with  Rudolf.  It  was  his  money  which  kept 
John  from  going  to  the  asylum — made  possible  the 
operation  which  restored  his  mind.  It  was  his 
money  which  kept  John's  mother  from  the  poor- 
house,  where  she  might  have  died  from  shame  and 
grief.  No,  you  chose  to  make  the  sacrifice,  you  can- 
not undo  it,  your  choice." 

But  against  this  reasoning  she  struggled  fran- 
tically.   She  would  see  John,  she  must  see  him.    He 


THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE    269 

would  understand  without  her  telling  him  all.  She 
would  make  him  promise  not  to  harm  Rudolf.  She 
could  soon  pay  Rudolf  back  the  money  he  had  sent 
to  Harbury.  Maybe,  when  he  found  John  was  well, 
he  would  release  her.  Maybe  he  would  never  come 
back.     Maybe 

And  so  she  strove,  laboring  distractedly  with  her- 
self, arguing,  pleading  her  right  to  see  John,  trying 
to  force  fallacious  arguments  on  her  skeptical  mind, 
but  in  the  end  she  was  compelled  to  give  up. 

It  was  not  until  she  was  in  the  station  and  it 
was  nearly  train  time  that  she  decided  definitely 
and  irrevocably  that  she  could  not  go,  that  one 
more  sacrifice  was  demanded  of  her,  one  more  sac- 
rifice and  far  from  an  easy  one  to  bear.  She  must 
be  silent.  Knowing  as  she  did  how  high  her  motive, 
which  had  led  her  into  this  compromising  position, 
had  been,  knowing  how  much  she  had  sacrificed  for 
John,  knowing  how  hard  she  had  struggled  and 
striven  to  help  him  when  he  needed  her, — know- 
ing all  this  she  must  be  silent,  and  let  him  think 
the  worst  of  her,  let  him  think  that  she  valued  fame 
and  luxury  above  her  honor  or  his,  that  like  a  silly 
girl  she  had  been  attracted  by  the  baubles  with 
which  the  world  tempts  the  weak  and  foolish.  Yes, 
she  must  keep  silent  and  bear  this  additional 
burden. 

Anger  against  him,  because  he  did  not  know  her 


270    THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE 

as  she  really  was, — that  in  spite  of  his  knowledge 
of  her  as  a  girl  and  afterwards  as  a  woman  and 
wife,  he  doubted  her, — tried  in  vain  to  enter  her 
mind,  but  she  repulsed  it. 

"  John  does  not  know,"  she  told  herself.    "  John 
does  not  understand." 


CHAPTER  XXX 

As  John  Lawson  progressed  toward  perfect  health, 
his  bitterness  and  hardness  increased,  nor  was  the 
self-confidence  of  the  man  lessened.  His  whole 
overshadowing  thoughts  were,  as  they  had  been  in 
his  early  convalescence,  devoted  to  his  business  fu- 
ture. He  erected  in  his  mind  mighty  air  castles, 
but  they  were  not,  as  on  that  May  day  so  many 
months  ago,  gorgeous  and  romantic,  and  filled  with 
peace  and  love  and  contentment.  They  were  grim 
and  gray,  with  frowning  turrets,  bleak  against  a 
lowering  sky.  His  mother's  death  did  not  alter 
a  line  of  their  architecture,  nor  did  ever  a  thought 
of  Ruth,  intruding  itself  against  his  will,  change 
an  angle  of  their  craggy  magnificence. 

He  knew  he  would  succeed.  The  blows  dealt  him 
by  Circumstance  had  only  hardened  the  fiber  of  the 
man;  the  two  years  of  inaction  should  be  made  up 
and  speedily.  He  would  open  a  store  again  in  Har- 
bury,  but  it  would  be  merely  transitory,  a  means 
to  an  end,  a  stepping-stone  to  the  greater  things 
which  were  to  come,  and  which  even  now  he  looked 
upon  as  realities. 

His  debt  to  Ruth  had  ceased  to  trouble  him. 
271 


272   THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE 

With  iron  will  he  set  it  out  of  his  thoughts.  Some 
day,  of  course,  he  would  pay  it  back;  and  it  still 
gave  him  grim  pleasure  to  think  of  sending  it  with- 
out a  line — just  the  money  and  nothing  more. 

Yet,  with  all  his  hardness  and  bitterness,  he  was 
careful  to  hide  his  feelings  from  his  townspeople. 
He  wanted  their  trade,  their  help — afterwards  they 
would  find  out  what  he  thought  of  them.  Perhaps 
the  most  observant  saw  beneath  the  veneer  of 
friendliness,  but  they  were  few,  and  they  were  only 
vaguely  puzzled,  and  doubted  their  own  surmises. 
Besides,  John's  conduct  in  the  matter  of  church- 
going  had  made  Harbury  warm  to  him  greatly, 
for  John  had  become  religious,  and  that  in  a  fashion 
which  they  understood. 

Before  his  accident  he  had  tolerated  religion, 
nothing  more.  Now  it  held  an  important  place  in 
his  life.  It  was  a  hard,  stern  religion  devoid  of 
any  of  the  love  and  tenderness  and  forgiveness 
which  form  so  great  a  part  of  the  teachings  of 
Jesus.  It  was  culled  from  the  very  harshest  pas- 
sages of  the  Old  Testament,  and  fostered  by  the 
bitterness  within  him.  Strange  to  say,  it  was  never- 
theless a  solace  and  a  reality  to  him.  He  was  not 
a  hypocrite,  he  did  not  pretend  what  he  did  not 
feel.  He  worshiped  a  god  of  iron  and  vengeance, 
a  wrathful,  unrelenting  being  who  held  the  great 
world  in  his  hand,  much  as  John  would  like  to 


THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE   273 

hold  his  little  world  in  his  hand,  and  dispensed  jus- 
tice, hard,  cold  justice,  with  an  unrelenting  severity. 
Possibly  in  worshiping  this  deity  of  his  own  con- 
trivance, John  was  but  worshiping  an  emblem  of 
power;  perhaps  he  seized  upon  this  figurehead  as  a 
lodestone  to  beckon  him  onward  on  his  march  to- 
ward power.  Or  perhaps  he  wished  to  conciliate 
this  terrible  being  into  showering  blessings,  worldly 
blessings,  upon  him.  Whatever  the  explanation, 
John's  religion  was  very  real  to  him,  and  the  churcli 
edifice  saw  him  in  regular  attendance  every  Sun- 
day. So  Harbury,  looking  no  deeper  than  the  sur- 
face, and  with  admirable  logic,  concluded  that  his 
catastrophe  had  been  an  act  of  Providence  for  his 
regeneration,  which  would  now  progress  very 
nicely,  since  Ruth  and  her  frivolity  were  not  im- 
peding his  footsteps  in  the  right  direction. 

It  was  shortly  after  the  death  of  his  mother  that 
John  paid  a  visit  to  Doctor  Northall. 

"  I  want  to  go  into  business  again,"  he  said 
directly.  "  I  need  money.  Can  you  let  me  have 
it?  I  will  give  you  a  share  in  the  business  or  pay 
any  reasonable  rate  of  interest.  I  believe  the  whole- 
salers will  carry  me,  but  I  need  a  certain  amount  of 
cash." 

"Certainly,  John;  certainly!"  cried  the  older 
man.  "  I  should  have  offered  it  long  before  this, 
only  I  did  not  want  you  to  think  too  much  about 


274   THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE 

business  before  you  were  strong  enough.  How 
much  will  you  need?" 

John  hesitated.  He  had  meant  to  ask  for  five 
hundred  dollars. 

"  I  will  need  at  least  a  thousand — maybe  more." 

"  I  haven't  got  quite  that  much,  John,"  said  the 
other  regretfully.  "  I've  only  got  seven  hundred 
and  some  odd,  but  you  are  welcome  to  that,  and 
maybe  I  can  scrape  up  a  little  more  later.  Will 
it  be  enough  ?  "  he  asked  anxiously. 

John  felt  suddenly  ashamed.  A  generous  impulse 
leaped  to  his  heart,  but  he  crushed  it  out.  "  I  can 
make  it  do.  Thank  you,  doctor;  you  know  how 
much  it  means  to  me.  And  the  rate  of  interest  and 
terms  ?  " 

"  None  at  all,  my  boy !  "  cried  the  other  heartily. 
**  Pay  me  back  when  you  can — no  hurry  at  all — 
and  I  certainly  would  not  think  of  charging  you 
interest."  The  old  man  gazed  fondly  at  the  younger. 
How  often  had  Doctor  Northall  gazed  fondly  at 
some  man,  woman,  or  child  and  given  away  his 
little  all !  Sometimes  it  had  come  back,  more  often 
not,  and  now  he  had  come  down  to  his  old  age  with 
only  seven  hundred  "  and  some  odd  "  dollars  be- 
tween him  and  the  world,  but  John,  or  anyone  else, 
might  have  them  for  the  asking,  with  no  interest, 
paying  them  back  when  and  how  he  chose  or  not 
at  all,  giving  no  security  or  bond,  and  receive  with 


THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE  275 

them  the  old  man's  blessing,  and  sorrow  that  he 
had  not  more  to  give! 

"  John,"  said  the  doctor  some  time  later,  "  have 
you  heard  from  Ruth  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  John  shortly. 

"Have  you  written  to  her?"  The  doctor  was 
fumbling  with  a  paper-cutter  and  looking  over 
John's  head  at  a  picture  on  the  wall. 

"  No." 

The  doctor  dropped  his  eyes  to  John's  face. 
"  You  are  wrong,  John,"  he  said  kindly.  "  You 
are  young  and  you  are  hurt.  Believe  me,  my  boy, 
I  know  just  how  badly  you  are  hurt,  but  you  ought 
to  write  to  her — see  her — something — ^you  prom- 
ised your  mother " 

"  I  would  rather  not  talk  about  her,"  said  John 
coldly. 

Doctor  Northall  sighed,  and  said  no  more.  His 
was  not  a  persevering  nature. 

John  left  the  doctor's  office  satisfied  with  his  visit. 
As  he  strode  along,  a  smile  lit  up  his  face,  a  smile 
of  satisfaction  to  think  how  shrewdly  he  had  man- 
aged the  situation — how  quickly  he  had  increased 
the  amount  of  his  request,  how  easily  he  had  evaded 
giving  the  old  man  a  share  in  the  business,  and  with 
the  satisfaction  was  a  feeling  of  contempt  for  the 
doctor's  lack  of  business  sagacity.  And  yet  in  the 
man's  soul  there  was  an  uneasiness — the  same  old 


276  THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE 

uneasiness  that  had  been  there  so  much  of  late. 
It  was  in  no  way  connected  with  Ruth,  or  with  his 
mother's  death,  or  his  financial  condition.  It  was 
a  soul  uneasiness,  a  stirring  of  a  disregarded  con- 
science. It  said  to  him  vaguely :  "  You  are  on  the 
wrong  track;  you  are  starting  on  a  path  that  leads 
to  the  shriveled  soul,  the  lonely,  friendless  life,  the 
death  of  your  better  self,  the  loss  of  everything 
that  makes  life  worth  while." 

"  Nonsense,"  retorted  the  practical  side  of  his 
nature.  "  You  are  starting  on  a  path  that  means 
success,  that  will  give  you  all  the  world  has  to 
give — wealth,  prestige,  power,  greatness,  every- 
thing." 

"  They  are  nothing,"  urged  the  other, 

"  They  are  all  I  want — now,"  said  John  out  loud, 
and  he  meant  it. 

Yet  the  unrest  remained,  but  it  was  to  grow 
weaker  day  by  day,  smothered  by  the  luxuriant  crop 
of  weeds  that  were  even  now  rooting  themselves 
firmly  in  the  man's  soul. 

He  continued  homeward,  planning  with  bold 
strokes  for  the  future.  Only  once  did  he  think 
of  Ruth,  and  then  it  was  only  to  be  glad  that,  in 
whatever  success  was  to  be  his,  she  would  have  no 
share. 


CHAPTER  XXXI 

Benjamin  Rudolf  was  at  Palm  Beach,  where  he 
had  come  immediately  after  leaving  Ruth.  It  is 
impossible  to  say  whether  there  was  more  of  satis- 
faction for  his  impulsive  action  in  the  man's  mind, 
or  contempt  for  himself  because  of  it.  At  times 
he  had  idealistic  dreams  in  which  Ruth,  the  central 
figure,  occupied  the  position  of  a  canonical  saint, 
while  he  worshiped  respectfully,  from  a  distance, 
at  her  shrine.  In  these  moods  he  would  plan  what 
he  would  do  for  her,  unobtrusively,  asking  no  re- 
ward, content  merely  with  her  friendship,  and  some 
day  she  would  recognize  his  love  for  her  and  re- 
spond to  it.  For,  in  his  highest  flights  of  idealism, 
Rudolf  never  lost  hold  of  the  belief  that  some  time 
Ruth  must  come  to  love  him.  In  fact,  all  his  ideal- 
ism was  to  be  more  or  less  of  a  pose  to  impress 
her,  yet  who  can  say  that  it  would  be  the  worse 
for  that? 

At  other  times,  however,  he  regretted  exceedingly 
his  course.  He  called  himself  a  fool,  and  accused 
himself  of  melodrama.  Especially  did  he  hold 
in  contempt  his  leaving  without  seeing  her  again. 
Yet  in  reality  it  was  the  one  absolutely  unselfish, 

277 


2/8   THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE 

the  one  absolutely  pure,  the  one  absolutely  god- 
like act  of  his  life.  Shaken  to  the  foundation  of 
his  mind,  by  her  plight,  and  the  realization  of  what 
she  was  suffering  because  of  him,  he  had  shed  self, 
and  risen  to  greater  heights  than  he  knew.  Now, 
the  normal  Benjamin  Rudolf  looked  back  at  the 
moment  skeptically  and  doubted  his  sincerity. 

Palm  Beach  did  not  distract  him ;  the  gayety,  the 
life,  the  lights,  the  music,  the  ever  paraded  insist- 
ence that  joy  and  amusement  were  the  chief  ends 
of  life,  wearied  him.  He  was  in  no  mood  to  enter 
into  the  outward  show  of  pleasure,  and  he  wanted 
to  go  back,  he  wanted  to  see  Ruth.  He  promised 
himself  time  and  again,  if  he  went  back,  he  would 
content  himself  with  the  role  of  friend — all  he 
wanted  was  to  speak  to  her,  to  hear  her  voice,  to 
gaze  upon  her,  and  feast  his  eyes  upon  her  beauty. 
But,  if  the  man's  natural  skepticism  of  himself  had 
taken  away  the  laurels  for  his  good  action,  it  was 
no  less  ready  to  strip  naked  his  promises.  Ru- 
dolf knew  in  his  soul  that  his  only  safety  lay  in 
staying  away  from  Ruth  for  the  present. 

And  yet,  underneath  it  all,  the  man's  character 
had  developed  to  a  remarkably  high  point,  consid- 
ering his  beginning.  He  was  still  far  from  the 
heights,  but  he  was  nevertheless  even  more  distant 
from  the  depths  in  which  he  had  been  wallowing 
when  Ruth  came  into  his  life.    The  animal  lust  for 


THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE  279 

her  had  changed  first  to  a  low  order  of  love,  which 
had  slowly  but  surely  grown  finer  in  texture,  until 
now  it  was  not  to  be  discounted.  Yet,  in  spite  of 
the  prevailing  opinion  that  a  man  looks  with  com- 
placence on  the  good  that  is  in  him,  and  belittles  the 
bad,  Rudolf  did  not  realize  his  own  gain.  He  felt 
that  whatever  purer  motives  he  now  held  were  forced 
upon  him  by  the  necessity  for  becoming  more 
worthy  in  Ruth's  eyes.     Perhaps  he  was  right. 

At  any  rate,  there  had  been  bom  in  his  mind 
a  scheme  which  would  have  far-reaching  effects  on 
both  his  and  Ruth's  life.  That  afternoon  he  had 
written  to  a  manager  who  was  to  put  on  a  play 
similar  in  character  to  "  The  Parisian  Milliner," 
and  suggested  that  he  make  an  offer  to  Ruth  to 
take  the  leading  part.  He  had  no  doubt  the  man 
would  do  this.  Ruth's  presence  in  a  production  now 
guaranteed  its  success,  and  Rudolf  would  advise 
her  to  accept. 

Thus  would  all  their  business  relations  be  sev- 
ered at  a  stroke;  he  would  come  to  her  an  out- 
sider, he  would  win  her  if  he  could  from  no  point 
of  advantage.  Perhaps  her  husband  would  die; 
perhaps  some  day  she  would  consent  to  a  divorce; 
perhaps,  although  he  doubted  it,  she  would  come 
to  love  him  enough  to  scorn  the  conventions.  The 
man  believed  in  his  star,  he  believed  in  his  destiny. 
With  the  intense  optimism  of  his  race,  that  opti- 


28o   THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE 

mism  which  has  upborne  it  through  centuries  of 
the  crudest  persecution,  dashing  again  and  again 
its  ever-rebuilding  exertions  to  the  ground,  he  was 
sure  that  somehow  he  would  succeed. 

And  he  wanted  Ruth — wanted  her  just  as  vehe- 
mently as  he  had  at  first,  but  now  he  wanted  her 
to  come  to  him,-  willingly;  yes,  more,  he  wanted 
her  to  crave  him  as  he  was  craving  her.  And  some- 
times he  felt  she  would. 

To-night,  as  he  was  sitting,  his  mind  deep  in 
thought,  his  eyes  roamed  wanderingly  over  the 
kaleidoscopic  picture  of  constantly  passing  and  re- 
passing people,  brilliantly  dressed  women,  beauti- 
ful to  look  upon,  men  in  the  conventional  evening 
clothes,  young  girls  in  the  freshest  of  dainty  cos- 
tumes, with  yet  something  older,  some  vague  lack- 
ing of  freshness,  in  their  faces.  His  eyes  were  ar- 
rested by  a  well-set-up  figure  of  a  man.  He  rose 
and  walked  toward  him : 

"  Hello,  Horace !  Didn't  know  you  were  in 
society." 

Doctor  Barney  snorted,  "  Can't  figure  why  I 
came  to  this  crazy-headed  place.  Was  a  little  tired, 
and  needed  a  rest.  Got  a  fool  idea  that  Palm 
Beaches  were  beaches  and  palms — Nature — all  that 
stufiF.  First  time  I  have  ever  been  here.  Of  course, 
I  ought  to  have  known  better — did  know  better — 
but,  anyway,  here  I  am." 


THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE  281 

Rudolf  laughed.    "  When  did  you  come  down?  " 

"  Got  here  last  night,  and  you  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I've  been  here  some  time,  couple  of  months 
or  so." 

"  Well,  you  must  have  a  strong  constitution. 
Smoke?" 

"  Thanks,  but  I've  just  finished." 

Doctor  Barney  lighted  a  cigar  and  puffed  com- 
fortably. "  Great  thing,  tobacco.  Great  mind  who 
first  invented  it — who  was  it,  Columbus?  No — 
Raleigh? — no — now  who  the  devil  was  it?  Rudy, 
you  ought  to  know.  Saw  your  star  show  the  other 
night.  Good — fine !  That  Ruth  Lawson's  the  best 
I  ever  saw.  Ever  hear  about  that  operation  I  per- 
formed for  clot  at  the  base  of  the  brain  ?  Weigman 
said  it  couldn't  be  done.  Name  of  Lawson  re- 
minded me — chap  by  same  name  up  in  a  little  one- 
horse  town  in  Massachusetts.  Entire  success.  Pa- 
tient's as  well  as  ever.  Weigman  was  wild.  Claims 
now  he  never  said  it  couldn't  be  done." 

The  doctor  chuckled  gleefully,  not  noticing  the 
strained  attention  of  his  hearer. 

"  What  did  you  say  the  man's  name  is  ?  "  Ru- 
dolf asked,  his  voice  well  under  control. 

"  John  Lawson — same  name  as  your  star.  Can't 
be,  by  Jove!  Yes,  it  is  I  First  thing  he  came  out 
from  under  the  ether,  he  said, '  Ruth — sister — wife  ' 
— ^what  relation  are  they,  do  you  know,  Rudy  ?  " 


282   THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE 

"  I  have  an  idea  he's  Miss  Lawson's  brother," 
Rudolf  lied  calmly. 

Shortly  afterwards  he  yawned,  made  some  ex- 
cuse of  fatigue,  and  went  to  his  room  to  retire. 

But  he  did  not  retire.  Instead  he  hastily  packed 
his  things,  and  the  night  train  saw  him  on  his  way 
to  New  York. 


CHAPTER  XXXII 

Rudolf  reached  New  York  in  a  reckless  mood, 
his  mind  full  of  ugly  thoughts.  Once  more  Fate 
had  stepped  in  and  thwarted  him.  All  the  recon- 
struction of  the  last  year  had  dropped  from  him, 
but  in  its  desertion  it  could  not  immediately  coarsen 
back  to  its  original  flabbiness  his  conscience.  That 
would  come  later.  The  mind  may  change  at  a 
bound,  but  character  changes  slowly,  and  con- 
science, that  silent  monitor  whose  approval  or  dis- 
approval is  absolutely  apart  from  anything  which 
the  reason  or  will  or  desire  may  urge,  changes  last 
of  all. 

So  Rudolf  arrived  in  the  city  a  man  half  crazed 
by  his  wild  desires,  his  sense  of  the  injustice  of 
Fate.  He  had  asked  only  for  time;  he  was  being 
honorable,  he  was  denying  himself  even  the  pleas- 
ure of  Ruth's  company,  he  was  conducting  himself 
in  a  perfectly  irreproachable  manner,  and  here  came 
Fate  dragging  into  the  game,  in  an  entirely  unwar- 
rantable fashion,  the  husband.  Ruth,  no  doubt, 
would  return  to  Harbury,  return  to  her  grocery- 
store  man,  to  the  ridiculous  narrow  village,  and 
finish  her  life  among  sordid,  uninteresting  surround- 


284   THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE 

ings,  while  he,  Benjamin  Rudolf,  who  could  give 
her  the  best  in  the  world,  would  be  forced  tc  go 
without  her,  live  his  life  vainly  yearning  for  her. 
No,  it  could  not  be — he  would  fight,  fight  every 
inch  of  the  way! 

And  with  these  thoughts  came  anger  against 
Ruth.  Why  was  she  so  narrow  ?  Why  couldn't  she 
be  broad  enough  to  ignore  the  conventions?  Their 
lives  could  be  a  veritable  paradise  on  earth 

He  drove  at  once  to  her  hotel.  Ruth — pale,  fear- 
ful, agitated — received  him.  At  the  sight  of  her, 
he  almost  gasped.  Could  this  sad-eyed  woman, 
with  deep  lines  under  her  eyes — yes,  even  with  the 
freshness  of  youth  fading  from  her  face — be  the 
Sylvia  who  had  tripped  so  smilingly  out  to  receive 
the  acclaim  of  the  audience  on  the  first  night  of 
"  The  Parisian  Milliner  "  only  last  September  ?  But 
he  checked  the  utterance  of  sympathy  that  sprang 
to  his  lips.  He  thrust  out  the  accusing  torment 
that  leaped  into  his  breast. 

"What  do  you  hear  from  your  husband?"  he 
asked  gruffly. 

"  Nothing,"  she  said  in  a  low  tone. 

"Nothing!"  His  tone  was  a  blend  of  incredu- 
lity for  the  statement,  anger  and  contempt  for  the 
man. 

Ruth  hastened  to  John's  defense.  "  He  does  not 
understand,"  she  said.     "  He  has  heard — gossip — 


THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE  285 

you  know  what  a  country  village  is.    He  does  not 
know." 

"  You  have  written  ?  " 

She  shook  her  head.    "  I  couldn't — explain " 

He  fell  to  pacing  the  room.  "  You  mean  you 
couldn't  explain  me — no,  I  see  you  couldn't."  He 
was  silent  for  a  moment. 

"  Sylvia,"  he  burst  out  passionately,  '*  give  him 
up — he  isn't  worth  it.  A  man  who  doesn't  care 
enough  for  his  wife  to  come  and  find  out  is  a  low 
sort  of  animal.  Why  can't  you  forget  him,  rise 
above  it?  There  is  lots  in  life  for  you  yet.  You 
are  young,  everything  is  before  you.  Even  if  he 
*  understood,'  as  you  say,  could  you  ever  be  happy 
in  Harbury  living  with  such  a  man?  Remember, 
it  was  different  before;  you  were  a  country  girl, 
you  were,  you  must  have  been  by  the  very  forces 
of  your  environment  narrow  and  provincial.  Now 
you  are  broad,  you  have  tasted  the  larger  things 
of  life.  You  have  been  a  dweller  in  the  city. 
Would  Harbury  content  you  now  ?  " 
"  Yes,"  she  said,  "  with  John— yes." 
The  man  was  exasperated.  "  John !  What  has 
he  done?  You  left  Harbury  to  work  for  him,  you 
sacrificed  everything  for  him.  What  has  he  done 
in  return  ?    Cast  you  off  because  of  gossip." 

"  If  he  knew,"  she  said  proudly,  "  he  would  not." 
"  Oh,  of  course ! "  he  said  sarcastically,  "  if  he 


286   THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE 

knew  that  in  your  supremest  sacrifice  you  just 
missed  going  over  the  brink,  but  not  unless,  Syl- 
via. If  you  had  committed  what  a  man  of  his 
narrow  mind  would  call  sin,  he  would  never  take 
you  back." 

"  He  would !  "  she  cried  vehemently.  "  He  would 
if  he  knew  the  circumstances." 

"  Never !  "  he  reiterated.  "  He  would  never  do 
it.  His  New  England  horror  would  be  too  strong. 
Inherited  male  tradition,  coming  down  through 
countless  centuries,  would  have  too  great  influence 
with  a  mind  like  his.  No,  no,  Sylvia,  he  would 
never  do  it!  He  would  not  even  believe  your 
*  circumstances  ' !  " 

"  He  would !  "  she  cried,  fighting  the  fear  in  her 
breast. 

"  Are  you  willing  to  put  him  to  the  test  ?  " 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  "  she  asked. 

Rudolf  was  suddenly  calm.  The  intense  egoism 
of  the  man,  the  belief  in  his  destiny,  his  star,  had 
shown  him  a  path,  a  narrow  path  it  was,  winding 
in  and  out  among  disastrous-looking  cliffs,  skirt- 
ing abysses  of  failure  and  rushing  streams  of  deso- 
lation, but  a  path  nevertheless.  He  believed  he 
could  traverse  it  successfully,  and,  if  he  could,  it 
would  lead  him  safely  out  of  the  present  difficult 
situation. 

"  This,"  he  said  earnestly.     "  I  will  admit  that 


THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE  287 

if  John,  hearing  everything,  and  believing  that  you 
sacrificed  yourself  for  him,  wants  you  as  much  as 
he  did  before  you  were  married,  if  he  feels  that 
whatever  came  to  you  was  his  fault,  that  all  his 
life  he  can  never  make  it  up  to  you,  if  he  believes 
your  story  absolutely,  without  proof  of  any  kind, 
then  I  will  say  that  I  am  misjudging  him — that  he 
is  worthy  of  you.  But  he  will  not,"  he  added  with 
a  short  laugh. 

"  I  don't  understand,  yet,"  she  said,  bewildered. 

"No?"  he  said  lightly.  "Well,  I'll  explain. 
There  are  two  things  only  which  you  need  to  un- 
derstand. First,  forget  all  that  occurred  on  the 
first  night  of  '  The  Parisian  Milliner.'  Forget  the 
money  I  sent  to  Harbury.  I  release  you  absolutely 
from  any  obligation  which  you  may  feel  it  in- 
volved." 

She  started  up  with  a  cry  of  joy.  "  You 
mean " 

"  Yes,"  he  returned,  smiling.  "  Rather  the  re- 
turn of  the  prodigal  in  a  way,  isn't  it?  " 

"  Oh,  how  can  I  thank  you !  " 

"  For  letting  you  climb  out  of  the  mud  puddle 
I  pushed  you  into?    It  is  noble,  isn't  it?  " 

"  You  must  not  talk  that  way.    If  you  knew " 

"  Secondly,"  he  interrupted,  "  you  will  go  to 
John  to-morrow  and  tell  him  everything — every  lit- 
tle detail  about  your  life  in  New  York,  except  that 


288   THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE 

you  must  appear  to  him — pardon  me,  Sylvia — as  a 
fallen  woman." 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  her  eyes  shining,  "  it  will  be  a 
test.  I  see  it  will  be  the  one  test  that  will  wipe 
out  the  past  forever.  But  afterwards  I  may  tell 
him?    Afterwards  I  may  tell  him  the  truth?" 

"  Afterwards  you  may  tell  him  the  truth — if  he'll 
let  you." 

"  Oh,  he  will !  "  she  cried  joyfully.  "  John  will 
understand." 

"  Just  one  word  more,"  he  said,  going  to  the 
door,  pausing  with  his  hand  on  the  knob.  "  Un- 
less he  accepts  you  unreservedly,  unless  he  feels  that 
you  are  entirely  guiltless,  unless  he  believes  your 
story  implicitly,  then  you  are  not  to  return  to  him 
—do  you  promise?" 

"  But  he  will.     I  know " 

"  Do  you  promise?  " 

"  Yes,"  she  said. 


CHAPTER  XXXIII 

The  train  bearing  Ruth  Lawson  was  nearing  Har- 
bury.  All  day  her  mind  had  been  in  a  state  of 
exaltation.  Rudolf's  act  in  releasing  her  from 
all  obligations  to  him  had  left  her  a  free  woman 
again.  The  joy  of  her  escape  was  only  less  keen 
than  the  joy  of  the  anticipated  meeting  with  John. 
For  a  moment,  the  night  before,  when  Rudolf  had 
been  so  positive  in  his  statement  that  John  would 
not  understand,  would  refuse  to  take  her  back, 
would  disbelieve  her  story,  fear  had  clutched  at  her 
heart,  but  with  the  morning  it  was  dissipated,  and 
now  she  looked  forward  to  seeing  her  husband  with 
no  dread.  Supreme  in  her  own  knowledge  of  in- 
nocence, she  felt  that  he  could  adopt  only  the  one 
course — that  of  love  and  contrition  and  sorrow  that 
she  had  been  through  such  terrible  experiences. 

And,  on  the  whole,  she  was  glad  Rudolf  had 
suggested  the  test.  Strive  as  she  would,  her  mind 
had  harbored  a  shade  of  resentment  against  John 
for  remaining  silent,  for  not  coming  to  see  her 
as  soon  as  he  was  able.  But  now,  as  soon  as  he 
had  stood  the  test, — and  she  knew  he  would, — all 
that  would  be  wiped  out.    She  would  feel  that,  no 

S89 


290   THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE 

matter  what  might  have  happened  to  her,  no  mat- 
ter what  she  might  have  been,  no  matter  how  she 
might  have  dishonored,  technically,  his  name,  his 
love  for  her  would  have  survived.  And  then  as 
soon  as  he  should  show  the  nobility  of  his  char- 
acter, his  broad-mindedness,  and  refute  Rudolf's 
mis  judgment,  then  she  could  tell  him  the  truth,  the 
blessed  wonderful  truth.  At  times  tears  of  joy 
stood  in  her  eyes. 

The  train  swept  shrieking  around  a  curve,  and 
came  within  sight  of  Harbury.  Ruth  strained  her 
eyes  for  the  old  familiar  landmarks.  There  was 
the  brook,  there  the  wide  fields  of  the  Braddock 
farm,  and  there  the  Braddock  mansion  itself,  but, 
no,  that  could  not  be  it,  that  little,  stiff  brick  house 
on  the  hill.  Ruth  had  remembered  it  as  an  impos- 
ing edifice.  Now  it  seemed  shrunken  to  a  quarter 
of  its  former  size.  She  stared  at  it  in  wonder, 
but  a  succession  of  houses,  which  she  remembered, 
swept  by,  and  no  one  of  them  tallied  with  the  pic- 
ture in  her  memory.  Only  Nature  remained  the 
same,  or  even  more  imposing,  for  the  broad  sweep 
and  roll  of  the  land,  the  wooded  hill,  the  bare  gaunt- 
ness  of  the  yet  unfoliaged  trees,  spoke  to  her  with 
a  restful  grandeur  she  never  felt  in  her  girlhood 
days. 

"  Harb'ry !  "  shouted  the  brakeman. 

Ruth  drew  a  long  breath  and  rose.     As  she  de- 


THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE  291 

scended  to  the  station  platform,  it  seemed  to  her 
ages  since  she  had  left  this  village,  yet  in  reality 
it  was  less  than  two  years,  but  those  two  years  had 
held  a  lifetime  of  living,  of  suffering,  of  emotion, 
of  knowledge  of  the  world.  She  had  left  Har- 
bury,  innocent  with  the  innocence  of  ignorance,  the 
innocence  coming  from  absence  of  temptation.  She 
returned  innocent,  having  been  tried  in  the  fire  of 
the  world's  fiercest  temptations.  She  had  left  Har- 
bury  as  a  girl,  she  came  back  a  woman.  Ruth  was 
prone  to  think  of  herself  as  old,  or  at  least  middle- 
aged.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  she  was  just  over 
twenty-two. 

As  Ruth  passed  through  the  station  into  the 
street,  she  came  suddenly  on  Mrs.  Braddock,  sail- 
ing majestically  along,  a  stately  brig  propelled  by 
a  favoring  wind.  But  the  sight  of  Ruth  was  like 
a  squall  coming  suddenly  out  of  a  clear  sky.  Taken 
aback,  she  stopped,  quivered,  reared  high  her  head, 
and  sheered  violently  to  one  side,  and  continued  on 
her  voyage  bobbingly  as  over  a  choppy  sea. 

Ruth  stood  staring  after  her;  there  was  no  mis- 
taking her  attitude,  recognition  had  shown  on  her 
face,  quickly  followed  by  horror,  contempt — any 
number  of  cruel  emotions. 

The  girl  paled,  then  pulling  herself  together,  con- 
tinued on  her  way.  But  she  was  shaken  to  the 
depths  of  her  being.    No  matter  how  one  prepares 


292   THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE 

one's  self  to  meet  social  ostracism,  the  blow  falls 
heavily  and,  as  it  were,  unexpectedly.  To  see 
faces,  which  once  were  friendly,  respectful,  change 
into  masks  of  indifference,  to  see  the  courteous  in- 
clination of  the  head  change  to  a  contemptuous  up- 
lift, to  hear  silence  in  place  of  the  word  of  greeting, 
is  possibly  one  of  the  hardest  things  which  human 
beings  are  called  upon  to  bear  in  this  world. 

Suddenly  Ruth  saw  Harbury  as  it  was — narrow, 
bigoted,  not  understanding,  confirmed  in  the  be- 
lief that  its  little  world  was  all,  that  its  views  on 
life  were  the  last  word,  determined  that  the  hem 
of  its  ridiculous  misproportioned  garment  must  be 
kept  from  contamination  at  any  price.  The  very 
streets  themselves,  narrow  and  straight,  the  houses 
stiff  and  unbeautiful,  yes,  the  very  atmosphere  was 
laden  with  that  indefinable  something,  that  exag- 
gerated, false  perspectived,  code  of  morals — the 
New  England  conscience.  And,  in  this  moment, 
doubts  of  John's  ever  being  able  to  understand  came 
over  her  in  overwhelming  force.     She  shivered. 

Mrs.  Braddock  had  taken  a  direction  at  right 
angles  to  that  in  which  Ruth  was  going,  yet  had 
she  hastened  on  ahead  with  the  outrageous  news 
the  effect  could  not  have  been  different.  It  seemed 
to  Ruth  as  if  the  news  of  her  coming  must  cer- 
tainly have  preceded  her.  The  few  people  on  the 
street,   figures   she   knew   well,    scurried   to   cover 


THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE   293 

as  she  approached,  and  once,  turning  around,  im- 
pelled by  a  sudden  curiosity,  she  beheld  little  groups 
here  and  there  watching  her  from  a  safe  distance. 

She  had  intended  asking  to  be  directed  to  John, 
but  now  there  was  no  one  to  ask.  Ridiculous  prob- 
lem as  it  was,  it  was  nevertheless  real;  she  had 
come  all  the  way  from  New  York  to  be  temporarily 
thwarted  at  this  point  by  an  absurd  contingency. 
Still  she  might  go  into  a  store  and  ask.  She  was 
nerving  herself  to  it,  when  some  one  came  with 
quick  strides  from  behind  and  a  voice  sounded  in 
her  ear : 

"  Why,  Ruth— how  are  ye,  Ruth?  " 

"  Finn !  "  she  cried,  her  heart  leaping  in  pleasure. 

"  Ye  ain't  changed  a  mite,"  he  asserted. 

Ruth  smiled,  but  her  smile  was  very  sad.  Then  a 
thought  struck  her. 

"  I  must  hurry  along  now,"  she  said.  "  Where 
can  I  find  John  ?  " 

"  I  cal'late  I'll  go  along  and  show  ye,  Ruth." 

"  No,  Finn,  you  mustn't,"  she  said  gravely. 
"  You  must  not.    People  will " 

Finn  raised  his  voice  in  anger.  "  Can  ye  stand 
plain  words,  ma'am  ?  " 

Ruth  nodded. 

"  People  be  damned !  " 

She  laughed.  "  Finn,  that  is  an  awful  thing  to 
say  out  loud,  here  in  Harbury." 


294   THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE 

Finn's  jaw  protruded  stubbornly.  "  Come  on," 
he  said,  "  I'll  take  you  to  John.  He's  got  a  new- 
store  now — just  fixin'  it  up.  'Pears  like  ye  just 
can't  keep  John  Lawson  down,  ma'am — no,  ma'am ! 
As  soon  as  he  was  out  of  bed,  he  was  startin'  only 
a  little  back  of  where  he  had  left  off." 

Ruth  did  not  answer.  Harbury's  attitude  had 
cast  a  cloud  over  her  hopes.  Would  John  rise 
above  his  environment?  In  the  light  of  her  new 
doubt,  all  the  opening  sentences,  with  which  she 
had  planned  to  greet  him,  seemed  foolish,  out  of 
place.     She  wondered  what  she  could  say. 

John's  store  was  on  the  main  street,  two  doors 
below  where  Sam  Brunt's  sign  proclaimed  the 
Model  Grocery.  Sam  stood  and  watched  her  pass 
without  a  sign  of  recognition.  Then  he  stepped 
out  onto  the  sidewalk  and  watched  her  go  into 
John's  place.  Finn  stayed  outside.  He  scowled 
at  Sam,  and  checked  an  utterance  which  seemed  to 
be  on  the  end  of  the  man's  tongue. 

In  a  moment  Ruth  came  out.  "  He's  not  there," 
she  said  in  a  bewildered,  tired  voice,  the  sudden 
snap  of  her  tension  leaving  her  weary  and  burned 
out.     "  He's  not  there,  Finn.    Where " 

"  Course  he's  not  there,"  Sam  called  derisively. 
"  He  heard  you  was  comin'.    He's  gone." 


CHAPTER  XXXIV 

Lory  was  worried  about  Ruth.  Ruth  had  taken 
the  rebuff  much  more  calmly  than,  Lory  feh,  the 
situation  demanded;  she  herself  had  experienced  a 
terrific  burst  of  anger  when  she  heard  of  it.  In- 
deed, Ruth  had  relapsed  into  an  apathetic  state  of 
mind,  and  this  attitude  frightened  Lory  much  more 
than  tears  and  raging  would  have  done. 

Now  Lory  was  trying  to  cheer  Ruth  up,  and 
the  sight  of  the  girl,  pale  and  haggard,  with  dark 
rings  under  her  eyes,  sitting  in  the  big  chair  quietly, 
her  suffering  eyes  fixed  on  Lory's,  hearing  without 
comment  the  latter's  highly  colored  version  of  her 
recent  doings,  filled  Lory's  mind  with  foreboding, 
in  which  there  was  just  a  trace  of  annoyance. 

"  See  here,  Ruth,"  she  said  abruptly,  "  you've 
just  got  to  pull  out  of  this — you've  got  to.  You've 
done  exactly  right,  and  you  know  it,  and  I  know  it, 
and  everybody  knows  it,  except  your  husband,  and 
he's  too  thick-headed  even  to  want  to  know." 

"  I  know,"  said  Ruth  wearily.  "  I  do  try, 
but " 

"  But  nothing !  "  exclaimed  Lory.  "  You've  got 
to.    Now  just  let's  take  a  look  at  it  from  an  out- 

295 


296   THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE 

side  standpoint.  I  saw  something  in  a  book,  the 
other  day.  It  said,  *  Stand  aside,  and  watch  your- 
self go  by.'  Get  that?  Pretty  good,  isn't  it?  Well, 
let's  do  it  on  your  case. 

"  Here's  a  Hannah  Brown,  comes  to  New  York 
looking  for  work,  and  can't  connect.  Hannah's 
got  a  family  to  support.  Tries  hard  to  get  a  job 
— can't  do  it.  Finally  she  does  get  one,  a  good  one, 
one  that  will  fix  her  family  up  in  fine  shape,  but 
she  finds  it's  tagged  with  a  price.  Won't  pay  it, 
don't  want  to  pay  it,  but  the  folks  need  money, 
so  she  does.  You  didn't  have  to,  thank  God,  but 
your  husband  thinks  you  did.  Hannah  did  have 
to.  Well,  what  of  it?  Hannah's  a  pretty  good, 
self-sacrificing  girl,  isn't  she?  Sure  she  is — you 
know  that,  so  do  I,  so  does  God,  if  there  is  one.  He 
marks  Hannah's  name  way  up  top  and  lays  aside 
a  couple  of  harps  for  her  when  she  gets  there. 
That's  good  common  sense,  isn't  it?  Just  stop  me 
if  I  blow  any  slush  into  this;  all  I  want  to  do  is 
to  talk  horse  sense. 

"  Well,  so  far  so  good.  Now  Hannah  was  mar- 
ried. Her  husband  was  sick,  that's  the  main  reason 
she  came  to  New  York  to  work.  He  gets  well,  and 
gossip  fills  him  up  to  the  brim  with  what  Hannah's 
been  doing  while  he  was  sick.  Tears  his  hair,  can't 
understand  Hannah,  never  thought  Hannah  would 
do  such  a  thing,  flabbergasted,  nutty.     See?    Says 


THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE   297 

he  don't  ever  want  to  see  her  again,  won't  even  go 
to  her  and  find  out  why,  where,  and  how.  Too  sore 
to  bother  with  her  at  all.  Well,  maybe  there's  some- 
thing to  be  said  for  him,  having  such  a  little  two- 
by-four,  twisted  head-piece,  but  his  being  that  par- 
ticular kind  of  a  worm  puts  him  out  of  Hannah's 
class.  She  is  big  and  broad  and  good  and  sensible. 
She  did  right,  although  it  looked  wrong.  He  is 
doing  wrong  just  because  it  looks  right.  See  the 
difference?  Now  here's  the  point.  Listening, 
Ruth?" 

Ruth  nodded. 

**  Well,  then,  here's  the  point.  Here's  where 
Hannah  comes  to  a  stone  wall.  She's  young  yet, 
say,  twenty-two  or  so,  and  her  life  is  ruined,  and 
her  husband  has  thrown  her  down,  and  she  feels 
like  the  devil,  and  she's  bang  up  against  a  stone 
wall.  Now  the  easiest  thing  for  Hannah  to  do  is 
to  stay  right  where  she  is,  on  her  side  of  the  stone 
wall,  and  keep  looking  back,  and  wishing  things 
had  been  different.  You  see,  that's  the  thing  she 
would  be  tempted  to  do,  for  her  mind  and  heart  are 
plumb  full  of  her  side  of  the  stone  wall  pictures. 
So  she  can  stay  on  her  side  and  mope  around,  make 
herself  miserable,  give  her  friends  a  pain,  do  no- 
body any  good,  and  grow  old  in  a  year,  and  look 
like  sin.    That's  the  easiest  thing  for  Hannah  to  do. 

"  But  there's  another  bet,  and  Hannah  can  take 


298   THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE 

it,  Ruth."  The  girl's  tones  sank  to  the  deepest 
earnestness.  "  Ruth,  dear,  Hannah  can  get  over 
the  wall.  She  can  climb  plumb  over  the  wall,  and 
never  peep  back  over  it.  She  can  toddle  out  ahead 
into  new  diggings  and  be  as  happy  and  successful 
as  if  nothing  had  happened.  It's  what  you  can  do, 
Ruth;  it's  what  you  ought  to  do.  Look  here,  you 
said  you  had  a  letter  from  the  *  Chocolate  Man  * 
people  about  that  part  for  next  season.  Take  it. 
Cut  Rudolf  and  me  and  Jack  and  Morry  and  the 
rest,  if  it  will  help  to  keep  you  from  peeping  back 
over  the  wall.  Begin  here,  now,  right  plumb  off, 
to  carve  out  a  new  life.  Put  your  memory  in  cold 
storage  and  forget  everything  but  the  present  and 
the  future.    See  ?  " 

Ruth  sat  silent,  for  a  long  time,  but  youth  and  a 
strong  character  were  arraying  themselves  on 
Lory's  side.  Yes,  she  would  climb  over  the  wall, 
she  would  make  a  new  life  for  herself,  she  would 
gain  success,  happiness,  she  would  not  be  cheated 
out  of  them  by  the  circumstances  that  had  crushed 
her  down.  Her  face  flushed,  and  her  hands  on  the 
arms  of  her  chair  clenched. 

"  You're  going  to  do  it,  kid !  "  cried  Lory  delight- 
edly. "  I  can  see  it  in  your  face — you're  going  to 
do  it!" 

Ruth  laughed,  her  eyes  shining.  "  I'll  do  it  un- 
der one  condition,  Lory." 


THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE  299 

"  Name  it — it's  yours.  Ask  me  for  my  new  hat 
— ^you  can  have  it." 

"If  you  and  Jack  and  Rudolf  and  the  rest  will 
help  me." 

Lory  departed  before  noon, — she  was  to  meet  Jack 
for  luncheon  downtown, — ^and  Ruth  dressed  and 
went  down  to  the  dining-room  for  her  lunch,  the 
first  time  for  many  a  day  she  had  taken  a  meal  out- 
side her  apartments.  All  the  time  she  was  pondering 
over  Lory's  advice.  Yes,  Lory  was  right,  the  stone 
wall  was  high,  but  she  could  get  over  it,  she  must 
get  over  it.  It  was  not  only  for  herself,  but  her 
friends.  How  kind  Lory  had  been,  and  Jack,  and 
how  noble  Rudolf  was! 

In  these  last  few  days,  Ruth  had  been  compelled 
completely  to  alter  her  opinion  of  Benjamin  Ru- 
dolf. He  was  wonderful.  It  seemed  as  if  the  whole 
of  his  conduct  toward  her  from  the  opening  night 
of  "  The  Parisian  Milliner  "  had  been  blotted  out, 
had  been  but  a  bad  dream.  Had  he  been  mad 
and  suddenly  returned  to  sanity?  Or  was  not  his 
present  attitude  something  above  ordinary  sanity? 
Ruth's  knowledge  of  the  city,  of  men  and  their 
ways,  inclined  her  to  think  that  it  was. 

Later  in  the  day  Rudolf  called. 

"  And  how  is  Sylvia  to-day?  "  he  asked,  his  old 
customary  greeting. 


300  THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE 

"  Very  well,"  she  answered  brightly. 

He  was  surprised  at  her  tone.  An  instant  fear 
that  she  had  heard  from  John  entered  his  mind, 
but  her  next  words  reassured  him : 

"  Lory  has  been  giving  me  a  talking  to,  and  it 
has  done  me  good.  She  says  I  must  stop  look- 
ing back,  and  look  forward,  and,  incidentally,  stop 
imposing  my  troubles  on  my  friends." 

"  Lory  is  a  wonderful  girl,"  replied  Rudolf,  re- 
lieved. "  But  your  troubles,  you  must  not  try  to 
keep  them  to  yourself,  Sylvia — they  go  away  sooner 
if  you  share  them." 

"  You  are  always  so  kind,"  she  said  earnestly. 
"  I  wonder  if  you  realize  how  kind." 

He  winced.     "  Please " 

"  Oh !  I  know,  but  that  is  all  in  the  past  now,  gone 
and  forgotten." 

"  Yet  the  trail  of  the  serpent  remains." 

"  I  wonder,"  she  said  half  sadly,  "  I  wonder  will 
it  ever  vanish — but,  no,"  she  continued  in  a  differ- 
ent tone,  "  we  must  not  think  of  it.  It  is  of  the 
future  I  want  to  think.  So  you  would  advise  me 
to  accept  the  offer  of  the  lead  in  the  *  Chocolate 
Man'?" 

"  Unquestionably." 

"Why?" 

"  Because,"  he  answered  promptly,  "  it  is  not 
well  for  a  star  to  be  under  one  management  too 


THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE  301 

long.  Especially  you  under  mine.  Even  yet  some 
people  are  attributing  your  success  to  favoritism 
of  some  sort,  though  how  they  figure  it  I  don't 
know.  Usually  the  box-office  receipts  are  indis- 
putable." 

"  That  sounds  well,"  she  said,  smiling  quietly. 
"  What  is  your  real  reason  ?  " 

"  Will  you  excuse  me  from  answering  that  ques- 
tion?" 

"No;  I  want  to  find  out  your  reason." 

"  Well,  then,  it  is  because  I  want  to  be  merely 
your  friend  and  not  your  manager.  It  is  a  very 
high  ambition,  Sylvia,  to  be  your  friend."  There 
was  a  trace  of  wistfulness  in  his  voice. 

"  So  you  wrote  to  Girard  and  Company  and  told 
them  to  make  me  an  offer  ?  " 

He  laughed.  "  Yes,  and  now  I  have  confessed 
all  of  my  sins." 

She  was  quiet  for  a  long  time. 

When  she  spoke  again  it  was  about  a  book  which 
she  was  reading. 


CHAPTER  XXXV 

Ruth's  visit  caused  Harbury  to  do  a  strange 
thing,  and  yet  it  came  about  in  a  perfectly  natural 
way.  Harbury  knew  that  Ruth  had  come  to  see 
John,  and  it  expected  a  luscious  scene.  "  What  did 
she  say?  What  did  he  say?  "  were  questions  ready 
on  every  tongue.  Somehow  the  news  would  be 
sure  to  leak  out.  And  when  Harbury  found  that 
John  had  avoided  seeing  Ruth,  and  thus  cheated  it 
out  of  its  desired  scandal,  it  was  justly  indignant. 
Then  one  of  its  inhabitants  remarked,  "  I  wouldn't 
'a'  treated  a  dog  thataway." 

"  No,"  replied  another.  "  Anyways,  how  does 
he  know  that  all  this  here  gossip  is  true  ?  " 

Thus  there  issued  a  tiny  spiral  of  smoke,  which 
presently  developed  into  a  flame,  which  in  its  turn 
rapidly  assumed  the  proportions  of  a  conflagration. 
Directly  in  its  path  was  John  Lawson.  He  felt 
the  heat  of  it  long  before  any  word  was  spoken  to 
him,  felt  it  in  the  lack  of  fervor  in  his  next  morn- 
ing's greetings,  felt  it  in  the  diminished  trade  for 
the  day,  and,  besides,  he  felt  it  in  his  own  inner 
consciousness.  For  John  knew  even  when  he  was 
avoiding  Ruth  that  he  was  making  a  mistake,  but 

302 


THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE  303 

in  a  sudden  weakness  he  had  allowed  his  sudden 
distaste  for  seeing  her  to  get  the  better  of  his 
judgment.  Whatever  the  outcome  might  have  been, 
it  would  have  been  better  to  have  had  the  meeting, 
and  had  it  over  with.  Had  his  fellow-townsmen 
vindicated  his  action,  probably  he  soon  would  have 
been  reassured,  but,  as  it  was,  he  was  forced  to  de- 
fend his  conduct  to  himself,  and  thus  view  it,  as  it 
were,  through  hostile  eyes. 

In  the  center  of  the  conflagration,  fanning  it  with 
heated  words,  was  Finn  Jones.  The  man's  anger 
was  thoroughly  aroused.  He,  more  than  anyone 
else,  had  been  in  a  position  to  see  the  effects  of 
John's  action.  He  had  helped  Ruth,  trembling, 
fighting  back  the  tears,  trying  not  to  let  him  see 
how  deeply  she  was  wounded,  back  to  the  station 
and  put  her  on  a  train,  which,  providentially,  was 
scheduled  for  that  hour  of  the  day,  and  so  now 
he  was  a  leader  of  opinion  against  John.  Accord- 
ing to  him,  riding  John  out  of  town  on  a  rail  would 
be  none  too  severe  a  punishment. 

"  Ain't  it  the  right  of  every  cit'zen  to  have  a 
defense?"  he  cried,  waving  his  arms.  "Ain't  it 
in  the  Constitution?  Suppose  everybody  was 
jedged  by  old  women's  gossip,  where  would  any  of 
us  be?  No,  sir;  I  cal'late  John  Lawson  thinks  he's 
pretty  smart,  but  I  say  he  ain't  no  man  to  treat 
his  wife  that  way." 


304   THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE 

"  'Specially  after  the  way  she  worked  and  slaved 
fer  him,"  said  another. 

"And  that's  another  p'int,"  said  Finn.  "We 
kin  remember  all  about  what  took  place  after  the 
accident.  We  kin  remember  the  way  she  rim 
around  lookin'  fer  work,  and  when  she  couldn't  git 
it,  hiked  off  to  New  York,  jest  as  plucky  as  could 
be.  Whose  fault  is  it,  whatever  she  done,  any- 
way? If  John  hadn't  been  so  crazy,  drivin'  that 
horse,  nothin'  of  the  kind  would  'a'  happened, 
would  it?" 

And  so  it  went,  but  it  remained  for  Doctor 
Northall — mild,  retiring  Doctor  Northall — to  clinch 
matters.  "  Beware  of  the  anger  of  sheep,"  says  an 
ancient  proverb. 

He  walked  brusquely  into  John's  store  at  closing 
time.  "  Something  to  say  to  you,  John,"  he  said 
sharply.  "  Hurry  and  close  up,  I  can't  wait."  John 
wondered  at  the  tone. 

"  All  right,"  he  answered — "  in  a  minute." 

He  closed  the  store,  and  ushered  his  visitor  to 
the  back  room,  in  which  he  slept.  The  older  man 
closed  the  door. 

"  I  want  to  know  why  you  didn't  see  Ruth  yes- 
terday. What's  gotten  into  you,  John?  You're 
behaving  like  a  child,  and  a  damned  bad  child  at 
that." 

"  That's  my  business,"  said  John  stiffly. 


THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE   305 

"  Your  business,  is  it !  "  roared  the  other.  "  Then, 
by  Granny!  that  money  I  loaned  you  is  my  busi- 
ness and  you'll  pay  it  back.  Your  business,  in- 
deed, you  impudent  young  whelp!  I'm  old  enough 
to  be  your  father,  and  you  talk  about  your  busi- 
ness to  me!  Didn't  I  see  Ruth  when  you  were 
lying  on  your  back,  helpless,  working  her  life  out 
for  you,  you  big  lumbering  hulk,  and  yet  you  talk 
of  your  business !  " 

John  said  nothing.  He  sat,  his  eyes  moodily  on 
the  floor,  but  his  jaw  was  set,  and  he  was  the  pic- 
ture of  stubbornness. 

The  old  man  stormed  around  the  little  room  for 
a  brief  time,  and  then  his  anger  began  to  melt : 

"  Look  here,  my  boy,"  he  said  more  gently. 
"  Don't  you  know  you  are  on  the  wrong  track, 
don't  you  know  that  it  was  your  duty  to  see  Ruth, 
and  hear  what  she  had  to  say  ?  Remember  you  have 
been  judging  her  without  hearing  her  side  at  all. 
There  may  have  been  some  terrible  mistake.  Be- 
sides, John,  you  promised  your  mother,  you  prom- 
ised her  on  her  deathbed,  and  that  is  just  the  one 
promise  no  man  can  break  and  still  be  called  a 
man.  Now  admit  it,  John,  you  were  wrong.  Do 
all  you  can  to  rectify  it.  Go  to  New  York  like  a 
man  and  hear  Ruth's  side,  and  then  act  accordingly, 
but  be  kind,  John,  be  kind.  Just  because  you're 
hurt,  don't  be  cruel;  there's  a  sight  of  cruelty  in 


3o6   THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE 

this  world  and  not  half  enough  kindness;  help  tip 
the  scales  the  other  way  a  kittle." 

John  was  silent  for  a  while.  "  You're  right, 
doctor,"  he  said  at  last.  "  I  will  go  to  New  York 
and  see  Ruth  the  first  day  I  can  get  away  from 
business." 

The  old  man  started  to  say  something,  but 
checked  himself.  Then  he  shook  John's  hand  and 
went  out.  At  the  door  he  paused.  "  Oh,  John ! 
About  that  money,  that  was  only  a  bad-temper 
speech — I  did  not  mean  it." 

Soon  it  became  circulated  about  that  John  was 
going  to  New  York  to  see  his  wife,  and  the  ani- 
mosity of  the  town  died  down,  but  speculation  was 
rife,  and  even  some  bets  of  a  modest  character 
passed  as  to  whether  she  would  return  with  him. 
The  bettors  holding  the  affirmative,  however,  de- 
manded odds. 

John  should  not  be  judged  too  harshly.  To  the 
man  in  his  position — as  the  position  disclosed  it- 
self to  his  belief — there  are  only  two  courses  open: 
either  the  erring  woman  shall  be  taken  back  with- 
out an  atom  of  reserve,  without  a  reproach  or  sign 
of  the  past's  having  existed,  or  she  shall  not  be 
taken  back  at  all.  There  is  no  intermediate  course. 
And  John  was  temperamentally,  and  by  virtue  of 
his  education  and  environment,  unable  to  do  the 
first.     Every  atom  of  his  being  cried  out  against 


THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE  307 

it,  and  yet  he  hated  himself  for  his  feeling.  In 
fact,  this  self-hatred  was  the  basis  of  his  harshness 
against  her.  Let  a  man  but  be  sure  he  is  right, 
and  he  is  mild,  temperate  in  his  thoughts  and  speech. 
The  blusterer,  the  intemperate  of  utterance,  the  bru- 
tal of  action,  is  the  doubter  of  his  own  mind. 

It  was  some  days  before  John  appointed  a  time 
to  go  to  New  York,  and  then  the  time  set  was  a 
week  off.  He  wanted  to  be  ready,  he  told  himself, 
to  be  prepared.  He  wanted  to  settle  in  his  mind 
just  what  he  should  say  in  case  Ruth  took  the  one 
course,  and  was  shameless  and  defiant  in  her  sin, 
blaming  him  and  circumstances;  or,  on  the  other 
hand,  penitent  and  begging  to  be  forgiven.  His 
belief  that  she  had  yielded  to  a  craving  for  luxury, 
he  never  questioned ;  it  was  only  her  attitude  about 
which  he  was  speculating. 

And  in  his  heart  he  determined  that  nothing  she 
could  say,  no  amount  of  pleading  on  her  part,  would 
alter  the  result.  She  was  a  sinner — she  must  abide 
by  the  results  of  her  sin.  Perhaps  he  would  be  very 
sorry  for  her,  perhaps  it  would  cut  him  to  the  heart 
to  carry  out  his  decision,  yet  it  should  be  un- 
alterable. 

He  wondered  whether  she  would  tell  him  the 
truth. 


CHAPTER  XXXVI 

John's  letter  to  Ruth,  announcing  his  coming,  pre- 
ceded him  by  only  a  few  hours;  she  received  it  in 
the  morning,  and  at  four  o'clock  his  train  was  due 
to  arrive. 

It  would  be  almost  impossible  to  exaggerate  its 
effect  upon  her.  It  seemed  to  her,  coming  as  it  did 
after  months  of  neglect  and  after  he  had  refused 
to  see  her  in  Harbury,  a  complete  surrender,  apol- 
ogy, on  his  part.  Urged  by  a  sudden  overwhelming 
impulse,  she  rushed  down  to  Rudolph's  office  and 
begged  him  to  release  her  from  her  pledge.  In 
the  face  of  John's  change  of  mind,  it  seemed  ab- 
surd that  she  should  test  him,  absurd  and  childish, 
theatrical — she  could  not  do  it. 

Rudolf  hesitated.  Like  many  another  man,  he 
found  that  every  act  foreshadows  another.  It  is 
understood,  rather  generally,  that  one  bad  action 
brings  another  in  its  train.  It  is  less  universally 
believed  that  the  correlation  is  equally  applicable  to 
good  actions.  But  such  is  the  case.  Rudolf's  hesi- 
tation could  have  but  one  end. 

"Do  you  want  it  so  much,  Sylvia?"  he  asked, 

trying  to  gain  time.     "  Wouldn't  it  be  better " 

308 


THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE   309 

"  Oh,  no,  no !  It  would  be  so  unfair  to  him — it 
would  show  such  a  lack  of  trust.  I  must  not  do  it. 
I  cannot  do  it." 

"Very  well,  then,"  he  said  gloomily,  "you 
needn't." 

"  Oh,  you  are  so  good,  Rudy ! "  she  exclaimed. 
«  You " 

"  Don't,"  he  said  hoarsely.  "  Please  don't— and 
would  you  mind  if  I  excuse  myself  now,  Sylvia? 
There  is  a  man  waiting  to  see  me  in  the  other  room, 
a  man  who  has  come  all  the  way  from  Chicago." 

"  Why,  of  course,"  she  said,  rising,  "  I  must  not 
take  up  your  time.  But  will  you  not  congratulate 
me,  Rudy?    I  am  so  happy." 

"  I  am  glad  that  you  are  happy,"  he  said  in  a 
tired  voice.    "  Good-by,  Sylvia !  " 

He  took  her  hand  in  his,  then  dropped  it,  and 
turned  abruptly  to  his  desk. 

The  train  from  Boston  was  five  minutes  late. 
Ruth  stood  shivering  with  expectancy  behind  the 
iron  gates,  shutting  out  waiting  friends  from  the 
station  platform.  It  seemed  to  her  that  all  the  last 
two  years  had  been  shaping  themselves  toward  this 
moment.  This  was  to  be  the  climax  of  her  life. 
In  a  few  moments  she  would  meet  John,  she  would 
be  in  his  arms,  she  could  tell  him  of  his  terrible 
mistake.     She  could  hear  his  voice,   tender  and 


3IO  THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE 

contrite,  as  he  begged  her  forgiveness.  And  how 
freely  she  would  give  it !  After  all,  he  had  but  done 
the  natural  thing.  He  had  believed  because  he 
heard  only  the  side  forcing  him  to  believe.  But 
now  how  different  everything  would  be!  Yet  she 
would  not  tell  him  all,  not  all  the  ghastly  details 
of  that  first  summer  of  suffering,  nor  would  she  tell 
him  of  the  narrowness  of  her  escape  from  Rudolf. 
In  fact,  she  would  not  have  to  tell  him  of  Rudolf 
at  all,  except  as  the  very  good  friend  who  had  helped 
her  so  much.  Now  that  Rudolf  had  given  her  back 
her  freedom,  it  would  not  be  necessary  to  linger 
on  that  part  of  the  story  at  all. 

And  then  the  train  came  in.  The  passengers 
streamed  out  onto  the  platform,  and  began  making 
their  way  toward  the  exit.  Ruth  strained  her  eyes 
for  John's  figure,  and  at  last  she  caught  sight  of 
it,  towering  above  the  others.  At  that  instant  pride 
shot  into  her  breast.  How  big  he  was,  how  manly, 
and  he  was  hers — he  was  her  John. 

"  John !  "  she  cried,  when  he  was  yet  a  little  way 
off. 

People  turned  and  gazed  at  this  wonderfully 
gowned  woman,  in  magnificent  furs  sweeping  the 
ground,  then  turned  to  look  at  the  man  to  whom 
she  was  calling.  They  saw  a  very  tall,  hard- 
featured  countryman  with  ill-fitting  clothes  and  a 
collar  a  size  too  big,  his  face  set  and  stern,  and 


THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE  311 

in  it  no  answering  enthusiasm  to  the  woman's  greet- 
ing.   They  wondered. 

But  Ruth  did  not  notice,  not  until  he  had  reached 
her,  and  ignored  her  outstretched  hand. 

"  Where  can  we  go  to  talk  ?  "  he  asked  gruffly. 
"  We  can't  talk  here." 

In  a  second  her  happiness  dropped  from  her  as 
a  garment.  She  felt  stunned,  uncertain.  It  was 
an  effort  for  her  to  say : 

"  We  will  go  to  the  hotel.  My  car  is  waiting 
outside." 

"  I  would  rather  not  ride  in  your  car,"  he  said 
with  direct  rudeness. 

She  drew  herself  up  haughtily.  "  That  is  an 
unforgivable  insult,"  she  said  in  a  low  tone. 

He  did  not  answer. 

She  looked  up  at  him,  and  what  she  saw  shocked 
her.  What  she  had  remembered  as  strength  in  his 
face  now  appeared  to  her  as  stubbornness;  what 
her  memory  pictured  as  firmness,  cruelty — there  was 
no  mistaking  that  thin-lipped  mouth.  And  in  his 
eyes  she  saw  a  deep  brooding  narrowness  of  vision. 
He  might  have  posed  for  a  statue  of  Justice,  that 
cold,  uncaring  Justice  which  weighs  only  results, 
nor  concerns  itself  with  motives. 

Surely  this  could  not  be  the  man  for  whom  she 
had  struggled  and  sacrificed,  her  John  whom  she 
had  loved  so  completely,  whom  she  had  endowed 


312    THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE 

with  every  perfection  and  virtue — this  man  who  now 
rewarded  all  her  strivings  for  him  with  unbelief  and 
insult.  A  wild  desire  to  wound  him  surged  up  in 
her  breast — he  should  know  the  truth,  should  learn 
how  terribly  he  had  misjudged  her,  should  see  his 
blatant  self-righteousness  shrivel  to  mere  flamboy- 
ant narrowness. 

"  Very  well,"  she  said  calmly;  "  we  will  take  the 
subway." 

It  was  not  far  to  the  hotel,  and  the  trip  was 
accomplished  in  silence. 

"  Now,"  she  said  directly,  when  they  had  reached 
her  apartments.     "  Why  did  you  come?  " 

"  I  promised  my  mother  when  she  was  dying." 

"  Your  mother  dead !  Oh,  John,  what  was  the 
matter?    Did  she  suffer ?  " 

"  Your  conduct  killed  her." 

"Oh!"  she  cried. 

Then  a  sudden  tremendous  anger  shook  her. 

"  You  brute !  "  she  said.  "  How  dare  you  come 
to  me  in  this  way,  knowing  nothing  but  village  gos- 
sip? How  dare  you  condemn  me  unheard?  Do 
you  know  what  I  have  been  through  for  you — do 
you  realize  what  it  meant  for  me  to  be  thrown  out 
into  the  world,  forced  to  support  not  only  myself, 
but  you  and  your  mother?  Do  you  suppose  I  left 
Harbury  for  fun?  Do  you  think  it  was  easy  for 
me  to  come  to  New  York  and  look  for  work — I, 


THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE  313 

an  ignorant  country  girl,  knowing  nothing  of  the 
city  and  its  ways  ?  " 

She  paused  for  breath,  her  breast  heaving  pain- 
fully. 

"  There  were  many  days,"  she  swept  on  tumultu- 
ously,  "  when  I  did  not  have  enough  to  eat — there 
were  days  when  I  was  tortured  by  the  heat  of  the 
worst  summer  this  city  had  seen  for  twenty  years, 
and  yet  I  went  on,  day  after  day,  looking  for  a 
position.  Why  ?  For  myself — no !  I  would  rather 
have  died.    For  you," 

Her  words  stung  him.  "  I'm  sorry,"  he  said 
coldly,  "  that  you  had  such  a  hard  time.  Perhaps 
it  was  my  fault,  but  I  refuse  to  be  saddled  with 
your  sin." 

"  My  sin !    Oh,  my  God — my  sin !  " 

She  laughed  harshly.  "  Who  are  you  to  talk  of 
sin?  Have  you  ever  been  in  a  position  where  you 
were  confronted  by  starvation,  where  you  could  pre- 
vent it  only  by  a  sin  which  would  hurt  nobody  but 
yourself,  where  you  must  see  your  loved  ones 
starve?  Suppose  it  was  your  mother — ^John, 
wouldn't  you  sacrifice  yourself  for  her  sake?  " 

"  It  would  be  unnecessary,"  he  replied.  "  There 
is  always  work  for  those  who  want  it." 

"  Is  there?  How  do  you  know?  How  do  you 
know  what  work  there  is  for  women  in  a  city  like 
this?    And  what  do  you  know  about  the  tempta- 


314  THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE 

tions,  the  circumstances  which  push  women  into  sin, 
the  sin  you  sneer  at  so  readily  ?  I  know,  and  I  say 
to  you,  John  Lawson,  that  there  are  thousands  of 
women  forced  into  that  sin  without  their  desire  or 
wish;  yes,  without  their  consent.  I  know.  I  was 
very  near  the  brink,  John,  and  I  know. 

"  After  months  of  faihire,"  she  went  on  more 
calmly,  "  I  won  success  at  last ;  yet,  even  when  I 
held  it  in  my  hand,  I  found  that  it  could  be  kept  only 
if  I — sinned.  I  would  have  refused — I  did  refuse 
— and  then  a  letter  came  from  your  mother,  saying 
that  you  were  to  be  taken  to  the  asylum  because 
the  money  was  all  gone,  and  she,  to  the  poorhouse. 
I  consented  then,  and  only  then.  But  the  sacrifice 
was  not  demanded  of  me.  When  I  was  tottering 
on  the  brink,  I  was  pulled  back." 

He  started,  and  a  light  leaped  into  his  eyes,  then 
his  face  again  set  into  its  former  heavy  lines. 

"  For  a  minute,"  he  said  cruelly,  "  I  forgot  you 
were  a  play  actress." 

The  words  themselves  were  lost  in  their  import. 

"  You  don't  believe  it?  "  she  cried.  "  You  don't 
believe  me  ?  " 

"  I  believe,"  he  answered  slowly.  "  that  you  had 
a  pretty  hard  time  after  I  was  hurt.  I  believe  that 
you  suffered  after  you  came  to  New  York,  and  I 
am  sorry,  but  you  could  have  done  a  great  many 
things  which  you  were  probably  too  proud  to  do. 


THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE   315 

You  could  have  taken  a  position  as  a  hired  girl. 
There  are  always  plenty  of  places  for  servants." 

Ruth  laughed.    "  Go  on." 

"  But,"  he  continued,  "  you  saw  a  chance  for  all 
this,"  his  glance  indicated  the  luxury  of  the  room. 
"  You  always  did  love  this  sort  of  thing,  even  in 
Harbury.  I  was  blind  then,  I  thought  your  fool- 
ishness was  just  because  you  were  young — but  other 
people  knew — I  have  heard  since." 

She  laughed  again.    "What  else?" 

He  scowled  at  her  interruption,  and  then  went  on : 

*'  Well,  it  was  a  great  temptation.  Perhaps  the 
Lord  did  not  give  you  strength  to  resist.  Per- 
haps I  am  not  blaming  you  as  much  as  you  think — 
but  I  refuse  to  be  blind  to  your  guilt.  The  money 
you  sent  my  mother " 

"  Don't  speak  of  money,"  she  said  quickly.  "  It 
has  no  place  in  a  situation  like  this." 

"  I  will  pay  it  back,"  he  went  on,  "  every  cent 
of  it." 

He  stopped,  and  silence  fell  upon  the  room. 

A  change  was  gradually  but  surely  taking  place 
in  Ruth's  mind.  At  the  station,  a  transition  had 
begun.  John's  first  look,  his  first  words  had  started 
it.  Every  moment  since  had  fostered  it,  every 
speech  of  his,  every  look,  his  very  personality,  gave 
it  momentum.  Ruth  could  not  believe  that  it  was 
real.     She  would  not  admit  to  herself  that  it  was 


3i6   THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE 

true.  Somehow  it  seemed  indelicate,  monstrous,  un- 
believable, but  at  last  she  was  forced  to  recognize 
it,  for  all  its  strangeness. 

She  did  not  care,  she,  Ruth  Lawson,  who  had 
loved  this  man  so  devotedly,  was  seeing  the  fabric 
of  her  love  woven  through  months  of  courtship, 
of  married  life,  of  struggle,  suffering,  sacrifice, 
gradually  falling  to  pieces  before  her  eyes,  de- 
stroyed in  less  than  an  hour's  insight  into  the  real 
John, — ^not  the  John  of  her  memories,  her  ideals, 
but  John  as  he  had  become  by  this  time. 

For  John  was  not  the  same  man  she  had  known 
and  married.  He  was  not  even  the  same  man  he 
had  been  when  he  awakened  back  to  consciousness. 
Some  natures  are  made  more  noble  by  suffering, 
some  natures  soften  under  the  buffeting  of  Fate, 
but  there  are  others  that  only  shrink  and  harden. 
Such  a  nature  was  John's.  And  in  this  hardening 
process,  as  if  to  quicken  it,  he  had  deliberately  set 
up  false  gods  and  was  worshiping  them  whole- 
heartedly— ^the  God  of  success,  the  God  of  money, 
and  the  God  of  Harsh  Judgment,  and  of  the  three 
the  latter  is  the  most  terrible. 

And  under  influence  of  this  transition  all  re- 
semblance of  this  man  to  John  seemed  to  fade. 
She  saw  in  him  only  a  hard-faced  stranger. 

"  Is  there  anything  else  you  wish  to  say?  "  she 
asked  at  last. 


THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE   317 

"  Yes,"  he  said.  "  I  cannot  have  my  name 
dragged  in  the  dirt." 

"  Oh,  of  course  not !  "  she  said  contemptuously. 
"  The  courts  will  free  you — I  will  not  contest." 

"  Then  that  is  all,"  he  said,  rising. 

Ruth  stood  in  the  middle  of  the  floor  after  he 
had  gone.  In  her  mind  was  an  immensely  curious 
feeling  which  seemed  to  be  a  facsimile  of  relief, 
and  opposed  to  it  a  great  loneliness — relief  that 
she  was  not  heartbroken,  that  now  there  was  no 
need  of  looking  back  over  the  stone  wall,  and  lone- 
liness and  grief  for  her  dead. 

For  John  was  dead.  Her  John,  whom  she  had 
known  and  loved,  was  dead.  Had  she  seen  his 
casket  lowered  into  the  cold  earth,  had  she  heard 
the  inexpressibly  melancholy  sound  of  the  clods 
falling  on  his  coffin,  had  she  looked  upon  the  grow- 
ing pile  of  earth  over  his  grave,  he  could  be  no 
farther  away,  no  more  completely  lost  to  her. 

Gradually  her  eyes  filled,  and  silent  tears  stole 
down  her  cheeks. 


CHAPTER  XXXVII 

"  Mr.  Rudolf  is  here,  madam,  but  perhaps  madam 
would  not  wish  to  see  him  ?  " 

Celeste  regarded  her  mistress  sympathetically. 

"  I  will  see  him,"  said  Ruth  wearily. 

Rudolf  entered,  his  face  dark  with  anger. 

"  What  has  happened,  Sylvia — no,  don't  answer 
— don't  try  to  tell  me.  I  know — I  was  at  the  sta- 
tion— I  couldn't  keep  away — I  was  crazy,  wild,  it 
was  unpardonable.  I  followed  you  here.  I  have 
been  waiting  outside  the  hotel.  I  saw  him  go. 
Tell  me  only  this:  Did  you  tell  him  everything?  " 

"  I  tried  to.    He  would  not  believe  me." 

"D n  him!"  cried  Rudolf.     "I  read  it  in 

his  face — the  cur !  " 

"  Don't,"  said  Ruth.    "  Please  don't." 

He  threw  himself  into  a  chair.  "  I've  been  through 
Hell  to-day,  Sylvia.  At  first,  because  I  was  afraid 
he  would  win  you  back;  then,  when  I  saw — when 
I  knew  what  you  must  be  sufifering — I  wanted  to 
kill  him — I — God !  "    He  mopped  his  brow. 

"  Don't  worry  about  me,"  she  said,  smiling 
faintly.  "  Somehow  I  don't  feel  so  badly,  after 
all." 

318 


THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE   319 
"  It's  the  excitement,"  he  said  moodily.     "  To- 


morrow  

"  No,"  she  said  earnestly,  "  it  isn't  that,  it  isn't 
altogether  that.  I  don't  know  just  what  it  is,  but 
I  don't  seem  to  care.  He's  changed  so,  or  some- 
thing. Perhaps  it  is  I  who  have  changed.  I  don't 
know." 

Rudolf  said  nothing,  but  continued  to  frown  at 
the  rug.    After  a  long  time  he  asked : 

"What  now?" 

**  Oh !  "  she  answered  bitterly.  "  He  is  afraid  his 
name  will  be  dragged  in  the  dirt.  He  will  ask  the 
courts  to  free  him." 

He  looked  up  quickly,  the  expression  of  his  face 
transformed. 
■"  Sylvia !  "  he  cried.    "  Sylvia— I " 

"  No,"  she  said.  "  you  mustn't." 

"  Forgive  me !  "  he  cried  contritely.  "  Yet  you 
must  know  all  I  would  say;  you  must  understand, 
Sylvia." 

"  Yes,"  she  said  gently,  "  I  understand,  and  you 
must  understand — I  know  you  do — how  I  appre- 
ciate all  you  have  been  to  me.  You  must  know  how 
highly  I  value  your  sympathy,  friendship.  And 
you  will  understand,  won't  you,  why  I  must  send 
you  away — for  a  long  time,  months — years, 
maybe?  " 


320   THE  CLUTCH  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE 

He  stood  before  her  with  his  face  aflame : 

"  But  I  may  come  back,  Sylvia  ?    Some  time — 

some  day — I  may  com.e  back  ?  " 

"  Some  day,"  she  said  softly,  "  you  may  come 

back." 


THE   END 


UC  SOUTHERN  REGlONAI.  UBRARY  FAOUTY 


A    000  125  265     9 


